Precious Days
by Hayseed Socrates
Summary: Travel with us many, many years into the future, where a married Jane and Lisbon must temporarily enter an assisted living facility. Expect humor, murder, hanky panky, detecting, and the occasional tug on the heartstrings. This story is a collaboration with the talented Donnamour1969, and Donna's concluding chapter is now finished.
1. Chapter 1

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We don't own these characters, and no copyright infringement is intended. Thanks, Mr. Heller.

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AN: The title is taken from the classic, The September Song. The Sinatra version is a great one to check out, if you're not familiar with the song. "...these precious days, I'll spend with you."

We hope you enjoy the story.

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Alice Miller dunked her teabag a few extra times before she dropped it into the break room trash and trudged up the stairs to her second floor office. She was paying the Monday morning price for staying up too late to watch her favorite TV show last night, and she was going to need every molecule of caffeine she could scrounge to get through the day.

She shuffled in and yanked open the drapes to reveal her generously sized window, which both overlooked the glass foyer downstairs and gave her a partial view of the Pacific. _The view was the biggest selling point for the facility, so why not remind potential customers?_ Easing down into her desk chair, she flipped the pages of her planner from Friday to Monday to see what was in store for today. Mondays were typically quiet here at Oceanside Commons. Apparently nobody wanted to start the week thinking about elderly housing. Well – almost nobody. She was surprised to see that she had an appointment bright and early this morning. Eight thirty. The Janes. Interested in a temporary unit for rehab.

People looking for temporary housing were usually the prospective residents themselves, rather than family looking for a permanent placement for a parent. Often, however, the older shoppers hadn't quite come to terms with the fact they weren't making it on their own, and dealing with them could be tricky. On the other hand, they were generally less picky than offspring looking for a long term home for a parent, because there was no guilt factor involved.

Whatever category the Janes fell into, she was confident she could handle them. After three years on the job as Assistant Director, she'd pretty much seen it all. Since the facility offered many types of housing, from self-sufficient apartments to full nursing care, most shoppers could find a unit that suited them, if they could afford it.

She rose and fetched a Rehab Unit information packet, and tidied up her desk, guzzling her tea as she worked. Things were pretty well in order by the time her phone rang at eight twenty. It was Mr. Prater, the security man down at the front door.

"Ms. Miller, the Janes are here to see you."

Since she could look down into the glass foyer through her window, she moved over to watch her potential clients enter. "Thanks Mr. Prater. I see them. Send them on up, please." Yes, it was spying, but it often gave her useful clues as to what her clients actually needed. She'd seen people barely able to hobble into the building, who would then profess to her in the interview that they were totally self-sufficient.

This couple looked to be seventyish. The petite woman had salt and pepper dark hair and walked with a marked limp. The man's hair had much less white in it, but he sported a neatly trimmed gray beard. He walked beside her on her "bad" side, an arm at the ready should she need it. She preferred to walk without help – her posture was very clear about that. Her companion was available to assist, but didn't hover. This was a couple that was still in sync, Alice decided. That would make her job easier. They disappeared from her view into the hall with the elevator, and a few moments later, appeared at her office door.

"Patrick Jane," the man introduced himself, "and my wife, Teresa." He nodded toward the neatly dressed woman beside him.

Neither of these two were Alzheimer's cases, she observed. Their eyes told her that right away. "Good morning, I'm Alice Miller, Assistant Director here at Oceanview. I understand you are interested in temporary housing in our rehab unit?"

They nodded.

"Come in, have a seat. Please tell me about what you're looking for and I'll show you what we have available."

When the couple was seated, they glanced at each other, and then the woman began to talk. Clearly this had been their agreed upon plan, and Mrs. Jane was both pleasant and to the point. She needed a left knee replacement, and since she also had a bad left shoulder, her rehab was going to be more complicated to deal with. Because her husband had some "cardiac issues" they - probably _she_, Alice surmised - felt they needed a temporary facility that had onsite physical therapy. Just for a couple of months until she was fully functional again on her new knee, Mrs. Jane elaborated.

The man sat silent, but Alice could tell that required considerable effort on his part. He was likely a bit wounded that his wife felt he couldn't handle things on his own. That's generally how it went. While his wife talked, however, Mr. Jane was looking at her, Alice, intently. He was studying her and her office, just as she was attempting to study them. "We're interested in a small place with an ocean view," explained Teresa. She placed a hand on her husband's knee and smiled at him with an affectionate sideways grin. "He likes the ocean."

There was no doubt that the husband had been one fine-looking specimen of a man in his day, Alice was quick to note. His intelligent blue green eyes and understated air of elegance were a killer combination, even at his advanced age. He was going to turn a lot of widow's heads in the dining hall, that was for sure. He might give_ them _some "cardiac issues," she snickered to herself. When he smiled back at his wife, however, it was abundantly clear to Alice that the widows would be disappointed.

She searched her computer briefly. "It looks like we have two units on the rehab floor that might interest you. 503B is an efficiency, and 512B is a one bedroom. The prices are listed in your brochure. Both units have a small kitchen, but meals served in the dining room are included in the rates, as well as twice-a-week housekeeping. There are two 'A' units available across the hall which are less expensive, but they have a garden view rather than an ocean view."

The Janes peered at the price list.

"Would you like to go take a look at the units?"

They nodded. Mr. Jane rose quickly and pulled his chair back out of his wife's way. She accepted the arm he offered to help her rise, but then dropped it when she was upright and steady. A practical woman, Alice observed. Proud, but not to the point of refusing help when she needed it.

They caught the elevator to the 5th floor. As they exited, Mr. Jane held the door so that Mrs. Gardner, a resident recovering from a hip fracture, could navigate into the elevator with her walker.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gardner," Alice greeted her, but the woman's eyes were trained on Mr. Jane.

"Why, yes, now it is!" the woman smiled, winking at Alice as she passed. If the Janes ended up renting here, this was going to be fun to watch, she mused.

They entered the smaller unit first. "As you can see," Alice explained, "this unit has a partition, with the sitting area here next to the efficiency kitchen, and a bedroom area that opens out to the balcony. All of our bathrooms are equipped with easy access showers."

"Nice view, but it's a bit cramped," Mrs. Jane said, frowning. "I suppose we could point the bed this way, " she motioned to her husband, "so we'd be looking out toward the ocean."

"Coffin with a view," he muttered.

"Shush."

Alice heard the sound of fabric whishing against fabric and then an "Owww!" from Mr. Jane. "No wonder you need a new knee m'dear – that one is worn out from kicking me."

"Behave," she scolded him good-naturedly, and turned to Alice. "I do think it's a bit small, even for just two months."

"Agreed," added her husband immediately.

"Could we see the larger unit?"

The couple appeared more positive about the one bedroom unit. They seemed to like that there were Pacific views from the large bedroom window as well as the balcony, which Mr. Jane stepped out to examine. "Why all the glass?" The balcony was actually a small sunroom – totally enclosed in panes of Plexiglas. "Part of the appeal of the ocean is the sound and the smell," he noted.

"We can replace the upper panels with screens if you prefer. A lot of our residents enjoy the warmth that the glass offers. The breeze can get chilly."

"Screens would be much better, but why not just open the…" He paused and peered intently at Alice. "Oh, of course. Security. Falls. Jumpers, even. That would be bad for business. I can see that."

"That's not…" she began to protest, but he cocked his head and squinted at her with a look that fairly screamed _don't bother to lie to me_. She was not going to fool this fellow, so she repeated her offer. "We can put screens in the upper panels for you – no problem at all."

He appeared pleased that she'd decided against patronizing him, and said, "I'd like that."

"There's an exit on the first floor that leads to a walkway to the beach, if you'd like to walk out there," Alice suggested.

The couple glanced at each other, and Mrs. Jane shook her head. "That may be a bit much for me on this knee."

"How about if I get Margaret from Physical Therapy to give you a tour of that facility, Mrs. Jane? And I'll take Mr. Jane down and show him the beach access."

Alice suspected she had already sold the place to the missus. The mister, she wasn't so sure about. He clearly liked the ocean, and Alice thought if she could focus solely on him for a few minutes, maybe she could win him over as well.

Their walk to the beach proved illuminating. Firstly, once his wife had been spirited off to PT, Mr. Jane practically sprinted to the elevator. She had trouble keeping up with him. Was he showing her _he_ wasn't disabled, or was he simply trying to escape?

As they stepped out of the elevator on the first floor, Alice broached the subject. She doubted this man could be distracted by the usual lines she used to pacify reluctant residents, so she got straight to the point.

"I sense you are not excited about taking temporary rehab housing, Mr. Jane."

"You could say that," he said with a raised eyebrow. He made a beeline for the "Beach Access" door and she scurried along beside him. They were across the bridge walkway and strolling along the beach park sidewalk in no time.

"What issues could we address that might make it more palatable for you, sir? We're pretty flexible, and we want our residents to have a positive experience. Can we sit here," she pointed to a bench they were passing, " and discuss it?"

He slowed, and then reluctantly stopped, giving a curt nod, and they took a seat on the bench, looking out toward the ocean.

"Ms. Miller, I can see that you have a real affection for the elderly, which is commendable and refreshing. Reared by a grandparent, I suspect, and you were quite close."

Alice reacted in surprise. It was a good guess, she told herself. Made sense. Maybe this guy was a retired psychologist or something.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You are aware of the problems with the incarceration and marginalization of older people, and you do what you can to thwart the negatives. But you are also a realist. A lot of your residents would be dead if they tried to live on their own."

Wow. This was…frank, Alice thought.

"You think it is my male pride or ego that makes me reluctant to do this." He sat up and motioned back toward the facility with a wave of his hand. "There is, perhaps, an element of that. I _could _take care of her at home, you know." Said with a smile, but a thin one.

Alice could sense she was doing the right thing by listening, so she kept her mouth shut.

"I have what they call 'stable angina.' If I do too much – exert myself too much – I get a tightness in my chest and a tad short of breath. So I sit down and take one of these little nitroglycerine pills." He patted his jacket pocket. "And I'm fine in a couple of minutes.

Because of that, however, Teresa refuses to get her knee fixed if we don't come here after her surgery. She's afraid that I'll overexert and kick the bucket. She wants _me_ to go in and have a procedure to clear the arteries in my heart, you see. I have refused to do that to this point, because if the doctors make a mess of it and kill me off in the process, Teresa would never get her knee fixed."

He crossed his arms and settled back against the backrest of the bench. "I know her. She would put off a new knee until she was too frail to have the procedure, and then where would she be? She's an independent woman, my wife, and I want her to stay that way. Because it makes her happy.

So, we've made a deal," he continued. "She gets her knee fixed, and after that, I've agreed to consider the cardiac procedure. And please don't take this personally. Either way, I don't want us to end up in a place like this."

Alice's hackles rose defensively – she couldn't help it. "A lot of seniors love living here, Mr. Jane. It prevents isolation and lets them live as independently as possible. They make new friends here and enjoy the activities," she added with pride.

"I'm confident that is true for some. Mae Minelli loves it here – we got your name from her. And Virgil – her husband - would be happy anywhere as long as she takes him fishing once a week. But why should I make friends here, Ms. Miller? Before I really got to know someone, they'd have a fair chance of dying. What's the average length of time someone lives here? Truthfully."

This was not a question she particularly wanted to answer, but her client barged on, not expected a response.

"I prefer to make younger friends. Friends who will outlive me. Selfish or self preservation – you can judge me if you like," he said wryly. A hint of a smile passed across his face as he continued. "At home we have new next door neighbors – a young couple who have an eight year old daughter, Caroline. She's delightful, and Teresa and I babysit her sometimes. I would much rather do_ that_ than play bingo." He looked wistfully out at the water, and paused a beat before continuing. "A lot of older people tend to sit around and reminisce." He shook his head. "I prefer, madam…" he turned to look her straight in the eye "…to look forward."

Clearly this was a complicated man with a history, and Alice wasn't sure what she should say next. She was running out of ideas to make Oceanside palatable to him.

"Don't worry," he read her thoughts perfectly. "We're going to sign up for your rehab housing. Teresa seems pleased and I will have the ocean. I trust you'll make sure that Virgil and Mae get their discount for referring new customers?"

"Yes, of course." Alice knew the Minellis. Mae was an officer on the resident's council and Virgil was amazingly spry for a man in his nineties.

"You've been kind, and you've done your job well," he pronounced, placing his hands on his knees. Then he flashed a grin that would light up the darkest night and said, "Now shall we go in and find my wife?"

**Three Weeks Later**

The Janes moved in on Alice's day off, and it was nearly a week before she ran into them. Reports from her staff said they were adjusting without problems. The wife's knee replacement had gone well, but she couldn't roll her wheelchair herself due to an old shoulder injury. Consequently, her husband insisted on pushing her around all over the facility. During her rehab sessions, however, the staff said that he disappeared out to the beach, returning promptly to "pick her up" the moment she was finished.

Mr. Jane had already charmed the dining room staff into making him special eggs in the mornings, and apparently he was an accomplished magician. This intrigued Alice, and today, when she saw the couple in the dining room for lunch, she decided to stop and chat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jane!" she greeted them. "How are things going?"

"Ah, Ms. Miller," the husband piped up. "Teresa is progressing _very_ well – the physical therapy staff is amazed at her progress. I'm not, of course. I know how determined she can be when she sets her mind to something."

His wife almost blushed. "Oh, he's exaggerating," she waved it off. "But the therapists have been very helpful. And thank you for having those windows changed to screens on the balcony. We're enjoying the ocean breeze."

"Wonderful," Alice said. "Mr. Jane, I hear you are quite the magician."

"I know a few tricks," he shrugged. "I enjoy making people smile."

"Were you a professional magician?" Normally she didn't ask residents about what they had done for a living, at least not publically. If they wanted to share, that was fine, but more than once a retired doctor or lawyer had bemoaned the fact that once the residents knew their profession, they were badgered with questions they didn't want. She couldn't see how asking this would hurt, however, because Mr. Jane had already done his tricks publically.

"Oh, no," he replied. "Not really. I travelled with a carnival when I was a boy," he explained with a twinkle in his eye, and Alice wasn't sure whether he was having her on or not. Mrs. Jane didn't correct him, however, so maybe it was true.

Just then her phone buzzed – she was needed at the office. "Please excuse me. Great to talk to you, and I'm glad this place is working out for you." She had a feeling that the Janes could tell some stories, and promised herself she would make a point of talking with them again soon.

**Three Days Later**

It was right after lunch on Friday when Alice got a call from Sabrina, a newly hired nursing assistant. "Ms. Miller, we've have a departure in the east sitting room. It's Mr. Edwards."

"Departure" was the term they used at Oceanside to report that a resident – a Do Not Resuscitate resident – had died. While she wasn't overly religious, she liked to think that their residents headed off to some better place when they expired. That's how she coped with the fact that deaths were inevitable when you dealt with all these frail, elderly people. As long as they had been happy during their time at Oceanside, Alice tried her best not to be too sad when they departed.

She was surprised at the news about Mr. Edwards, though. He'd been diagnosed with cancer a couple of years ago, but was considered a cure after his surgery. The only reason he lived here now was because he was nearly deaf. But his mind was as clear as hers and Alice certainly hadn't expected this.

"I'll be right down." The sitting room was right next to the dining hall, and a lot of residents would be walking directly by there after lunch – very soon. "Why don't you position someone at the door to route the residents in the other direction so they can't see into that room?" she suggested to the young staff member.

Alice ducked into housekeeping to grab a clean sheet, and made it down to the sitting room in a flash. Poor Mr. Edwards was sprawled in the middle of the floor, most surely dead. He was cool to the touch.

"Sabrina, you go out and route everybody away from here," Alice instructed her green employee.

"Oh, right," the girl said, a bit flustered. She had only worked here for a week or so, and this was her first "death." As Sabrina exited the right half of the double door into the hall, Patrick Jane waltzed in through the left half.

"Mr. Jane!" Alice said sternly. "You need to get out of here."

He gave no indication that he had heard her, but rather, walked to the corpse and studied it intensely.

"Mr. Jane!" she insisted. "Mr. Edwards has passed. Please go on back to your lunch with your wife."

"Oh, we're done," he said absently as he walked around the body slowly and carefully, sometimes tilting his head in odd ways. Then he looked around the room just as intently. "He hasn't been moved, has he?" Jane asked.

"No," Alice replied. "Now please, go. I need to cover the body." She pulled out the sheet she had fetched for this purpose.

"No!" he cautioned her. "Don't touch anything!" And then he drew in a breath and called out loudly, "Lissssss – bonnnnnn!"

Wheeling her chair awkwardly with one arm, Mrs. Jane appeared in the doorway. "What the hell, Jane?"

"We have a murder, m'dear," he said to her. And then he smiled.

"Oh for goodness sake," Mrs. Jane replied. "Ma'am," she addressed Sabrina. "Would you wheel me in here please?" Poor bug eyed Sabrina did as she asked. "That's good, thank you. Not too close," she cautioned the girl. Mr. Jane pointed down at something, and Mrs. Jane nodded. "Ms. Miller, you need to call the police."

"Huh? Why should I do that?" Alice was incredulous.

"Because if he says this was a murder, it was," Mrs. Jane stated matter-of-factly, dipping her head toward her husband.

"But…" Alice hesitated.

Mr. Jane spoke up. "Let me help you with this. Teresa and I are retired law enforcement. We've worked hundreds of homicides over the years. Trust me, m'dear. This was murder." He turned to his wife. "See there," he pointed toward some additional something.

"Ah. Definitely. You're right." She turned to Alice. "Ms. Miller, you need to keep everyone out of here, and don't touch anything. This is a crime scene." Despite her diminutive stature, her voice had the ring of authority.

Alice shrugged, let out a huge sigh, and dialed the police.

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AN: Donna is up next! You can look for the rest of the story to be mostly from Jane and/or Lisbon's POV. Alice was just getting things started.


	2. Chapter 2

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A/N: Hi! Donna here! I'm so grateful for everyone who is taking a chance on this unusual fic. Thanks to Hayseed, for her outstanding first chapter (as well as her inspired idea). I hope I give you a satisfying follow up.

**Chapter 2**

Teresa Lisbon-Jane glanced from the body of the recently departed Mr. Edwards to her husband, who was giving poor Ms. Miller the third degree about the deceased. She could see his mind working much like it always had—sharp as a tack, quick as a wink. While Lisbon was occasionally forgetful, Jane never was, and it annoyed her sometimes that he always knew where she'd left her key card, or her shoes, or her phone. It wasn't as if he lorded his steel-trap brain over her; she knew it was her disappointment in herself that made her cranky when he stealthily (and lovingly)slipped her lost key into her hand.

Now, with an intriguing new mystery to solve, her husband was happy as a clam, a gleeful expression on his face that a million extra-hard Sudoku puzzels could not provoke. Lisbon would bet a million bucks Alice Miller thought Jane strange for being so delighted to find a dead, possibly _murdered_ body in the sitting room of the quiet retirement facility.

"See, Ms. Miller," he was saying, "you can tell by the position of the body that he was dragged here. I'm guessing that whoever killed the poor guy did so in a place that might implicate the murderer. All you need do, I imagine, is pull up the security video for this room—"

Alice frowned. "That might be a problem," the assistant administrator countered. "Yesterday, we had that electrical surge, remember? All the security cameras went offline and wouldn't come back on. Our tech guy isn't due here until tomorrow morning."

"Ah-ha!" said Jane, with an excited clap. Alice jumped involuntarily. "That narrows things down a bit. I imagine only this facility's employees would be aware the cameras weren't working."

Alice's eyes were drawn to the location of the hidden camera in the northeast corner of the sitting room, then back at Jane in wonder. "Well…yes, you're right. But it must be a-"

"Coincidence?" Jane finished wryly. "No such thing. I'm afraid, Ms. Miller, that a member of your staff killed Mr. Edwards. Just give me two minutes with each of them, and I'll suss out your killer for you, lickety split."

While Lisbon agreed with everything her husband had said, they were no longer in law enforcement. And while she was naturally intrigued, this wasn't their problem. The police would be there any minute, and it would be up to the proper authorities to solve this thing. Besides, too much excitement wasn't good for Jane's heart.

"Jane," she said softly. He turned immediately to her, ever vigilant of her needs and desires, especially after her recent surgery. He stepped over the body and moved across the room where she sat in her wheelchair. Ms. Miller met the police in the doorway.

"Yes, my love," he said, reaching for her hand.

"Tone it down a bit, will you?" she said under her breath. "Ms. Miller is going to think you're a ghoul."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Meh. I'm just a crazy old coot who does magic tricks. Harmless."

Lisbon raised an eyebrow. Had he no concept of how charismatic, how compelling he still was? Lord knows he was still incredibly handsome. But then she caught the familiar sparkle in his eye. He knew full well the effect he still had on people. Especially _female_ people.

"Well," she said, playing along, "she called the police at your suggestion; she must take you a little bit seriously."

"She's just covering her ass," he said. "Wouldn't want there to be a suggestion of a cover-up at the good old Oceanside."

"You're such a cynic," said Lisbon.

He shrugged, just as a police officer came over to speak to them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Jane?"

"That's us," said Jane.

"Ms. Miller says you have an interesting theory about Mr. Edwards here."

"Yeah," said Jane. "He was murdered."

"And why do you think that, sir?"

There was an air of condescension in his tone that Lisbon knew grated on her husband, and she watched his eyes narrow in annoyance.

"Because _ob_viously he wasn't killed here." He repeated what he'd told Alice in a tone that was equally condescending. Lisbon struggled between amusement and embarrassment—a familiar state for her when she was with Jane in a public place. And so it had been for forty years. And as usual, Lisbon felt the need to smooth things over.

"Officer, I'm Teresa Lisbon Jane. My husband and I worked for the California Bureau of Investigation, and then the FBI in Austin for years. We've seen more murders than either of us could count—"

Jane opened his mouth as if to interrupt with an exact number, but one look from Lisbon and he shut it again…and grinned.

"I'm sure upon closer examination, you'll see my husband is correct. This _was_ a murder. I suggest you get your top people on it while the trail is still hot, and, God forbid, before anyone else gets hurt."

The officer, perhaps thirty years old, looked from Lisbon to Jane and back again, trying to determine if they weren't just a couple of senile old busybodies. He decided instead to be suspicious.

"Do you know anything you're not telling me, Mr. Jane, about what might have happened here?"

"Not at all. But I do know that you are having some trouble with your new wife. She didn't bargain for all the sleepless nights while being married to a cop. Tell her it doesn't get any better, that maybe she should cut and run before you have kids."

"Jane," Lisbon practically growled.

The officer's face contorted in anger, his jaw tightening ominously.

"You two should return to your rooms," he bit out coldly. "Let us handle this. We'll contact you if we have any more questions."

"Of course, Officer," said Jane. "Have a nice day. Sweetheart? Shall we let these nice men do their jobs?"

"Yeah," said Lisbon skeptically. "Let's go."

After Jane had wheeled his wife out of the sitting room and down the hall a ways, she spoke her mind.

"Whatever you're thinking of doing, Jane, don't. I don't think either of our hearts could take running from an angry murderer. Besides, I left my Glock at home."

"Horse feathers, my love," he contradicted affectionately. "You don't go anywhere without your sidearm. I saw it in that shoebox beneath those white sandals you never wear."

"Well, you can never be too careful…"

He pushed her into the rec room near the lobby and squatted on creaky legs before her, his hands going to the arms of the wheelchair. It was fairly empty in the rec room that time of day, when most of the tenants were taking their afternoon siestas. Still, a few sat at a table playing cards, and some dozed in their chairs by a window overlooking the ocean. Jane looked up into Lisbon's green eyes, the deep laugh lines around them only enhancing her beauty, in his mind.

"You saw the way that cop was looking at us, Lisbon. He's shutting this thing down and you know it. I'll bet whatever poison (which I suspect killed Edwards), will be attributed to an accidental overdose or something equally obvious. Or more likely, they won't be able to find anything on a preliminary examination, so they'll just end it there and rule it _natural causes_. But you and I both know differently, don't we? All we have to do is keep an eye on the staff here. No one will quit right away to avoid suspicion, so a few well-placed, innocent questions, and I'll guess the killer before Wednesday night bingo."

She sighed. He really wanted this, so of course he was going to pursue it. But she had to admit she loved the way his eyes were sparkling with barely contained excitement. She'd been right in telling him all those years ago, that he loved and needed the mental stimulation of a good mystery.

"Fine," she relented. "But if you get us kicked out of here, Jane, so help me…"

"Aw, come on, Lisbon. Methinks ye doth protest too much." He leaned in and kissed her sweetly on the lips. "Admit it. You're just as curious about the killer's identity as I am. "

"Well," she said, smiling, color rising in her cheeks. After all these years, he still had the power to make her blush when he looked at her like that. "I suppose I am. But a fine team we'll make, with me in this contraption."

"Don't worry. It'll be just like 'Rear Window,' only _you'll_ be Jimmy Stewart." He grinned mischievously.

"And you'll be Grace Kelly," she said with a laugh, imagining it. Then her face fell when she remembered what that character had done in the movie. "Only, _I _will kill you if you take it upon yourself to sneak into the murderer's lair by yourself." She lowered her voice. "I've got a gun, remember?"

"Yes, Boss," he teased at her familiar chastising tone.

Jane stood then, his hand going to his lower back as he stretched his slightly stiff muscles. Small things like that were good reminders that he wasn't a young man anymore, despite how young he felt in his mind.

"Well, as long as you're obeying my orders, take me back to our room so we can call Austin. He said he'd be available about this time."

"Certainly," he said, moving to push her chair back into the corridor. "He owes a conversation with his dear old dad. I'm getting jealous of all this attention he's paying to you."

"Oh, pshaw. He idolizes you and you know it. I'm the one who has to vie for his attention all the time. It took knee replacement surgery to get him to notice me again."

It was an old and amusing argument, reminiscent of the _Mom Always Liked You Best_ skit from the Smothers Brothers.

Their son, Austin, was a captain in the Marine Corps, stationed in Australia. He had been extremely concerned about his mother's recent surgery, especially when he couldn't get leave to come home, so he was counting on their video calls so he could see her progress for himself.

The moment they entered their unit, the video phone beeped for attention, and Jane pressed the button on the wall screen. Austin's face appeared, his smile wide and bright like his father's, but with the added charm of his mother's dimples. His hair was dark like Lisbon's had once been, the natural wave from both his parent's under control only through his short-clipped military cut. His eyes were a vivid sea green like Jane's, beautifully enhanced by the darkness of his tan from his time in the southern hemisphere.

"Hey Mom and Dad!"

"Hi, Son," they replied in unison.

They spoke of unimportant things for several minutes, catching up, neither Jane nor Lisbon speaking of the murder by mutual, silent consent. No sense worrying him even more.

"I'll have leave in a month," he told them. "Maybe by then you'll be up for a jog, Mom."

She laughed. "I'll hold you to that."

"Notice I didn't even bother making the offer to Dad this time."

"I'm afraid that ship sailed long ago," Lisbon replied, glancing at her husband. But her eyes still lit in appreciation of how fit he still appeared.

"Why jog when you can feel just as refreshed after a lovely stroll on the beach? Besides, you can't jog in a three-piece suit." Jane said, not the least bit offended.

"Right," said Austin.

"What have you heard from Maddie?" Jane asked, changing the subject.

They watched their son flush with embarrassment. Maddie Rigsby was three years older than Austin (the middle daughter of Grace and Wayne) but they were both in their late twenties, so the age difference didn't seem important. Well, at least not to Austin. It was convincing Maddie that it didn't matter that was the real challenge. Still, they spoke nearly every day, saw each other whenever he made it back to California, or whenever the two families got together around the holidays.

"She's still resisting me, Dad," he said sheepishly.

"What? I refuse to believe that. You're a Jane, Son. You need to stop skimping on the charm. Don't be afraid to go at her with both barrels. That's what I did with your mother. I chased her down until she caught me."

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Why is it that the only thing you can't remember well is how you put off telling me your feelings until the very last possible minute?"

"I told you at the exact right time, Lisbon. I mean, you got off the plane _before_ it took off, didn't you?"

Austin grinned, watching his parents argue and banter over this story for the millionth time. They never seemed to grow tired of it. He hoped one day he would find a love as deep and lasting as his parents'. He was a hopeless romantic (a trait he believed he got from his father), and he still had faith that Maddie Rigsby would someday realize they were soul mates.

Jane suddenly leaned closer to the screen, and said, soto voce: "You could always use that little trick I taught you."

"Jane!" Lisbon gasped. "Austin, I forbid you even thinking of hypnotizing her. Wayne and Grace are our oldest and dearest friends. You will not manipulate their daughter in any way, understand?"

Austin tried not to laugh. His mother in boss mode was a sight to behold. He was a decorated captain in the Marine Corps, and she still had the power to reduce him to feelling like a little boy.

"Yes, ma'am," said Austin solemnly.

Her voice softened then, and she glanced up at her husband, while she seemed suddenly to have drifted off, far into the past.

"Trust me," she said dreamily, "if it's meant to be, it will be worth waiting for."

Jane stepped back from the video phone and took his wife's hand, bending to bring it to his lips. "How do you know I haven't been hypnotizing _you_ all these years?"

"I would know," she said, smiling into his eyes. "I know all your tricks by now."

Austin cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, but duty calls in about ten minutes. I'd better go."

"All right, Son," said Jane, feeling the mistiness in his eyes he always felt when saying good-bye to his only child. He'd grown very sentimental in his old age. "Keep making us proud."

"I will, Dad. I love you both."

"Good-bye, Sweetheart," said Lisbon. And the screen went blank.

"He's looking thin," said Lisbon, her brows knitting in concern.

"He's fine," said Jane, putting his hands gently on his wife's shoulders. "We'll see him soon."

Of course, he'd given this reassurance for both of their benefits; he sometimes still felt a bit panicked, like he had when Austin was a child. After losing Charlotte many years ago, he tended to be overprotective to an extreme, but Lisbon, who had seen all her brothers grown safely into men, served as a calming influence upon him. Lisbon squeezed his hands, infusing him with that comfort once more without saying a word.

"Well," he said, eyeing the couch in the small living room. "I'm going to take a nap. The real investigation can't begin until the cops leave anyway."

Lisbon nodded. "You go ahead. I want to finish my next chapter."

She was writing her memoirs, a labor of love and pain that was a year in the making so far. Her hunt for Red John, her experiences in the CBI and FBI made for some very interesting reading. She'd been in touch with an interested I-Publisher, and there was even talk of development into a weekly retro video series.

Jane had been sleeping an hour when the doorbell rang. He yawned and stretched and glanced over at his wife, who had fallen asleep in her chair before her ancient laptop.

He went to the door, glanced at the security monitor to see a familiar old face: Virgil Minelli.

"Virgil!" He said, when the door slid open. "Come in, come in!"

The older man, though twenty years his senior, had blue eyes as sharp as ever, though he walked with a cane and shuffled slowly into the Janes' apartment.

"So," he said, his voice still strong, still just as cantankerous, "Not here a month and already you two brought trouble with you."

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed my contribution. Back to the wonderful Hayseed Socrates to see what she can do with the mess I left. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

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We do not own these characters and no copyright infringement is intended

_AN: Hayseed here. Glad you all enjoyed Donna's chapter. This one picks up as Virgil Minelli appears at Jane and Lisbon's apartment:_

_"Virgil!" He said, when the door slid open. "Come in, come in!"_

_The older man, though twenty years his senior, had blue eyes as sharp as ever, though he walked with a cane and shuffled slowly into the Janes' apartment._

_"So," he said, his voice still strong, still just as cantankerous, "Not here a month and already you two brought trouble with you._"

_._

__.__

___.___

**Chapter 3 Precious Days**

"I see you've driven poor Lisbon into a state of unconsciousness, too," Virgil said as he eased carefully down into the chair beside her. He lifted his cane and gave her arm a little poke.

Teresa's eyes snapped open and she righted herself instantly. "Virgil," she said, clearing her throat. "Sorry, I was just thinking. Been working on my memoirs here," she pointed at her old laptop.

"Thinking? Ha! That's what I tell Mae when I drift off too, but she knows bull when she hears it, and so do I. Fortunately, you're a terrible liar. Made my job a lot easier, back in the day. So how's the pin coming?" He nodded toward her knee.

"Very well, thanks. Getting better on it every day. "

"Mae is in one of her council meetings, and she told me you all had upset the applecart, pegging poor Carl Edwards' death as a murder."

"We didn't stir up the trouble," Jane corrected him. "It happened all by itself. And it _was_ a murder, no doubt about it."

Just then, another knock came on their apartment door. When Jane peered at the security monitor, he was surprised to see Ms. Miller. "Come in," he opened the door and waved her in with a smile. "It appears we're having a party this afternoon."

"Thank you," she said but her perfunctory smile didn't last long. Her expression was a blend of worried and peeved, Jane noted.

"Mr. Minelli," she greeted the older man first with surprise, and then, "Oh, right, I forgot you all knew each other."

"Yes, I was their boss," Virgil said with a smirk. "Drove me right into retirement, they did."

"What can we do for you, Ms. Miller?" Jane asked. He was positive this wasn't a social visit.

"It's about…" she paused, uncertain what to call it. "The _death_. The police said they saw no sign of foul play, and they wanted to rule it a natural death and go home. Especially once they found out that Mr. Edwards was listed as DNR. That stands for Do Not Resuscitate," she huffed, as the decibel level of her voice increased.

"It makes me furious when people misunderstand that. I explained to him that DNR just means he didn't want to be resuscitated and kept on life support if he died. It didn't mean he was _ready_ to die, or _wanted_ to die." Color rose in her cheeks as she spoke. "It most assuredly didn't mean he _deserved_ to die. But that smartass – excuse my French – cop was determined to blow me off!" She was nearly shouting by the time she finished, and became suddenly self-conscious in the silence that followed.

"Sorry, I just get worked up sometimes," she admitted, glancing at the floor. "Anyway, I need to know," she continued in a more normal voice. "Were you two really in law enforcement? Do you really have any idea what you're talking about?" she asked them pointedly.

A look of affront passed over Jane's face, but before he could protest, Minelli spoke up. "Ms. Miller, you are in the presence of greatness." Jane fluffed up proudly, which Minelli ignored. He was looking straight at Lisbon. "Teresa Lisbon was one of the finest agents I ever supervised – if not _the_ finest.

This guy," he pointed to Jane with his cane, "is a total pain in the ass." Jane's demeanor deflated, and he looked positively wounded. "But I have to admit, they make a great team. Had the best close rate in the bureau. And I understand they did fine work with the FBI as well. I was responsible for putting them together at the beginning, you know. I've apologized to Teresa time and again," he said with a devilish grin.

"Virgil is exaggerating," Lisbon said, blushing a little. "But to answer your question, yes, we are legitimate. Or were. I was both a CBI and FBI agent and my husband was a consultant. We've been retired for several years now."

Ms. Miller looked relieved. "Good. Because I threw a hissy fit and demanded that an autopsy be done."

"You think something's off, too, don't you," Jane stated, not as a question.

"Well…" she hesitated. "Yes. But I'm not sure why."

"That's perfectly okay. Best kind of hunch."

"Mr. Edwards was a nice man. If somebody killed him, they shouldn't get away with it just because he was old. And I certainly need to know if any of my staff could have been involved."

"Excellent," Jane said. His eyes were shining with anticipation. Lisbon looked at Minelli for sympathy and shook her head.

"What time is it?" Virgil asked abruptly.

"Three forty five," Ms. Miller noted, glancing at her watch.

"Gotta go," he said, preparing to rise. "Mae's meeting will be over soon."

"My PT is at four," Lisbon said. I'd better get on down there, too."

"Wait," Jane said. "Ms. Miller, I need to address the resident's council while they are still assembled, if I may. I assume these are the movers and shakers here at Oceanside?"

"Why, yes, I suppose."

"He must like you, Ms. Miller. He asked your permission…" Minelli grumbled. "Never asked for mine."

"Teresa, I'll need to wheel you down to PT a bit early and then catch the meeting,_ If_ that is okay, m'dear?" he added with exaggerated politeness.

"I'll take her to therapy, Mr. Jane. You and Mr. Minelli go on down to the meeting before they adjourn."

Jane hesitated. He was obviously reluctant to relinquish his wife's care to another person.

"Go, Patrick," Teresa insisted. "See what you can find out. I'm sure Ms. Miller can drive this thing just fine."

Soon they were all on their way down the hall, and Jane, in his excited state, kept getting ahead of the slowly moving group. He turned and walked backwards to address Ms. Miller. "I'll need to talk to your staff. We can start with everyone who was on duty at the time of the murder. Could you arrange a meeting for me?" He was asking, but his tone assumed compliance.

Lisbon looked at her husband and smiled. He was already plotting up a storm. There were few things more interesting to watch than Patrick Jane on a roll, she mused. An investigation might be just what he needed to occupy him during her convalescence, and yes, she admitted with a shrug, it might just be fun.

XXXXXXXX

The Oceanside Council consisted of about twenty or so residents, and was eighty percent female, consistent with the demographics of the facility. As soon as their regular business concluded, Mae, who'd noted Jane and Virgil in the back of the room, asked if there was any further business.

"Yes, Mrs. Minelli, I'd like to address your group, if you don't mind. Ms. Miller said it was all right with her, if you consented as well." As Jane walked to the front of the room, a twitter ran through the council members.

"Certainly, Patrick," Mae agreed. "This is Patrick Jane, who is a temporary resident while his _wife_ , she emphasized, " goes through rehab." She could see a few of the ladies eyeing Jane like fresh meat.

"Is this about Mr. Edwards being killed?" a smartly dressed woman in the front row blurted out.

"Yes, ma'am, it is," he confirmed smoothly as he took the floor. Ms. Miller appeared in the back of the room as he got started, but remained a silent observer. He asked quite a few questions of the council but in the end, their answers weren't terribly helpful..

Mr. Edwards kept to himself, mostly. Nobody talked with him very much because he was deaf, but he did carry an electronic notebook so he could converse by having people write things down. Apparently few people had bothered to get to know him well. Someone thought he was from Wisconsin originally, because he liked to watch the Packers games on the rec room big screen TV.

Mr. Edwards hadn't made a big splash in the social circles of Oceanside, that was for sure. But neither had he made obvious enemies. As Jane wound up his inquiries, he asked, "How many of you like living here?" Everyone raised a hand. "How many of you would prefer to live at home if you could?" About half raised their hands. "How many were forced to come here by relatives?" Four people reluctantly raised their hands.

"What does that have to do with Mr. Edwards' death?" asked a man at the end of one row.

"Nothing," he replied. "I was just curious. Thank you for your time. You may go."

As the council filed out, Jane walked back of the room to where Alice Miller was standing with the Minellis. "What was Mr. Edwards' room number?" Jane asked.

"Three oh five," Alice replied.

"Virgil, Mae, Ms. Miller," Jane dipped his head to them. "Excuse me, Teresa will be finishing up therapy and I must be there promptly to pick her up," he said, and in a flash, he was gone.

Alice frowned. "Should I have offered to let the Janes take a look at his room?" she lamented. "Or do the police need to do that?" she asked Virgil.

"I wouldn't worry about it," he chuckled.

Alice checked her watch. "Wait, it's only four thirty. Mr. Jane left too early. His wife won't be out until five. Oh no!" Something new had clearly dawned on her. "It's already four thirty. I have an appointment right now. I _must_ get back to my office. This is all very upsetting," she added, and a flustered Alice hurried away to her meeting.

After she had departed, Virgil looked at Mae and said, "Poor thing has no idea, does she? Jane is already knee deep in Edwards' stuff - I'd bet my cane on it." Mae smiled and together they began their slow walk toward their apartment. "Sure hope I live long enough to see this play out..." he said to his wife with a twinkle in his eye, and he dodged her halfhearted swat.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Good news," Lisbon greeted Jane as the therapist pushed her wheelchair out of the exercise room into the hall. It was five o'clock on the dot.

"Do tell."

"Teresa walked thirty five feet unassisted with her walker today! Twice," bragged the therapist.

"Splendid," Jane exclaimed, looking at his wife with pride.

"Yes, she's our poster child. She has amazing flexibility given she's had that knee such a short time."

"Of course she does," he said, giving Teresa a mischievous glance. Jane took his place behind her wheelchair.

As soon as the therapist was out of earshot, Lisbon said, "The real good news is that I picked up some juicy gossip that might help our investigation. It's amazing what you can learn around the whirlpool."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Seems Mr. Edwards had a female admirer. Ms. Purcell. Room three eighteen."

"Ah, woman, you are a wonder."

"I keep telling you that."

"Let's pay the good Ms. Purcell a visit, shall we, my darling? We need to do a bit of socializing with our fellow inmates," he said with a flourish, and turned her wheelchair toward the elevator.

On the way to Ms. Purcell's room, Jane brought Lisbon up to speed on what he'd gleaned from his breaking and entering session in Mr. Edwards' room.

"Edwards was a tidy fellow, well organized. I suspect he had money issues. No ocean view, for starters, and there were several items of mended clothing in his closet. I have in my pocket the electronic notebook he carried around to communicate with his fellow residents, though I haven't figured out if it maintains a log of past conversations. I'm confident it will provide something illuminating once we tap in."

"Great," Lisbon agreed, feeding on his excitement as he wheeled her quickly down the hall.

"But the best thing, is this." He stopped and reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a mass of thin, tangled wires.

"What's that?" she asked.

He pointed to the soft ear buds at the end of the wires. "These, my dear, are earphones - the old fashioned kind. I found these hidden in his top drawer, easily accessible. Why would a deaf man need earphones, I ask you?" Jane was in full showman mode now. "He wouldn't. Ergo, Mr. Edwards wasn't actually deaf."

Lisbon's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Well I'll be damned."

"He was hiding it for a reason, so let's not mention it to anyone just yet. See where it goes first?"

"Okay," she agreed.

XXXXXXXX

They knew instantly they were on the right track when Ms. Purcell opened her door. Her eyes were puffy and she shifted her weight from foot to foot anxiously. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk with them, she explained, avoiding their eyes.

"Are you the fellow who said poor Carl had been murdered?" she eyed Jane suspiciously.

Lisbon immediately took the lead. "Yes, ma'am. We both used to be with the FBI, and I agree with my husband that Mr. Edwards' death should be investigated. I can see that you knew him – you were close. We're very sorry for your loss."

Lisbon laid a hand on the teary woman's arm, and she softened immediately. "We weren't really together, you understand."

"Good friends? Could relate to one another?" Jane asked.

Ms. Purcell smiled. "Yes," she said. "Please, come in." Once they were seated, she began to talk. "Carl lost his wife and son in a car accident twenty five years ago. He never got over it. But when he came here, we got to talking one day, and we bonded over our love of art. We began to spend a lot of time together and found we both loved playing cards…doing lots of things, really. We shared the same sense of humor."

Jane and Lisbon exchanged glances. "So you were a little in love with him," Jane stated softly.

The woman didn't deny it, and simply nodded. "Carl was lonely and so was I. I had a long career as an art purchasing agent, and never had time for marriage. But now I have nothing but time, and I enjoyed Carl's company so much. He was a kind and wonderful man." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

"Mr. Edwards – Carl – had lived here for two years?" Lisbon asked.

"Yes, that's about right, I think. I'd been here six months when he moved in. He had been through cancer surgery and moved here temporarily while he took chemo. I think he expected to die," she sighed. "But he didn't, and I believe after that, he felt he was living on borrowed time, and that cheered him up somehow. The chemotherapy destroyed his hearing though, so he decided to stay on – said he liked it here. I'd like to think I had something to do with that…" she finished wistfully. "He didn't have any family left at all."

"Did he have money issues?" Jane asked.

"No, I don't think so. His disability insurance paid for his rent here, I'm pretty sure."

"On account of his deafness."

"Well, at first it was his cancer. But then, yes, his deafness."

"Only Carl wasn't really deaf, was he?" Jane proposed.

A look of pure terror gripped Ms. Purcell. "Of course he was deaf. Because of the chemo," she insisted.

"There's no need to protect him now. His secret doesn't have to be kept any more," Jane said gently.

She sighed deeply and looked down at her feet. "No, I suppose it doesn't," she agreed, wringing her hands.

Jane laid out the scenario. "He wanted to continue living here –near you – after his chemotherapy was successful, but he couldn't afford the rates without his disability insurance paying. So he pretended the drugs had destroyed his hearing. Clever. Can't say I blame him."

The woman's eyes snapped up, just to make sure Jane was serious. She saw that he was.

"Ms. Purcell, I think Carl might have heard something – found out something – and that may be what got him killed. Will you help us, so that we can find out who did this?"

She sat up straight and jutted out her jaw. "Yes," she said decisively. "I will."

XXXXXXXX

After dinner that evening, the Janes decided to sit out on their balcony and watch the sun set. Patrick had missed his afternoon walk on the beach, and Teresa was more tired than usual from her vigorous therapy session.

As they listened to the lap of the waves and watched the sky change colors over the water, Lisbon said, "While you were in the shower, I called Marisa Cho and asked if she could retrieve past conversations on Edwards' notebook for us. She said she'd be happy to, and I sent her the data. She promised she'd have it for us first thing in the morning."

"Great. It's nice to have our own IT whiz to consult. How's her mom and dad?"

"Kimball and Fran are fine. Enjoying their retirement, she said. They've bought a condo up north of San Francisco."

"Good to hear. We should look them up some time soon," he suggested. The sky had turned from orange to blood red – the most dramatic sunset they'd witnessed since moving into Oceanside. "It's been a good day, m'dear. I'm thinking of having a glass of wine. Can I get you one as well?"

"I'm not supposed to drink with these anti-inflammatory drugs I'm taking. You know that."

"Meh. Just a taste?"

"An inch," she cautioned.

He disappeared inside and returned with two glasses of wine, taking a sip from the fuller one before placing them both on the table.

"Thanks. It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, looking out at the blazing colors. The red was slowly changing to magenta, and then purple.

"Magnificent." Instead of sitting, Jane moved to stand behind her chair. He reached down and pulled her hair to one side, away from her neck, and placed a whispery kiss onto her exposed skin.

"Someone's feeling frisky tonight," Teresa observed with a smile. They hadn't had sex since her surgery. Like most older people, the frequency of their lovemaking had decreased over time, but they both still enjoyed it immensely. She figured they averaged once a week or so, and it had been about three weeks now.

Over the past six months, she had been the one to take the more "active" role, due to her concern about her husband's angina. He never complained of it during the act, but she was always a teensy bit worried that the exertion would be too much for him. Just another reason he needed to have that cardiac procedure, she noted. As soon as she was fully functional on this knee, she would insist.

Meanwhile, Jane's lips were trailing down her neck, and that was very distracting. He knew what flipped her switch, and tonight he was pulling out the big guns, she realized, as little shivers ran down her spine. But with her knee, her options for being the active one in anything they tried tonight were limited.

She'd made up her mind that they really should wait a few more days, when he reached down and ran his fingertips lightly along the insides of both of her arms. _Dammit,_ she thought, _those graceful, elegant hands of his_. She felt her resistance dissolve completely as he nuzzled deeper into the crook of her neck.

"Help me up, then," she laughed, and so he did. "You sure you're up for this?"

He looked down at his trousers and nodded.

"That's not what I meant," she giggled.

"I'm fine," he assured her. Jane _was _prepared. At their home, there was a small hidden space between the side of the mattress and the side rail of their bed. Before they went to bed every evening, he would place two nitroglycerine pills there, just in case.

Occasionally, when he exerted himself a bit more than usual during their lovemaking, he would feel that familiar tightness in his chest. His angina usually coincided with his climax, so when he laid down beside her afterward, he would reach his hand down and slip a pill under his tongue. The medicine would do its job, and his angina would quickly subside without Teresa ever suspecting a thing.

He'd discovered a spot on the metal side support of their bed here at Oceanside where he could hide his pills, and when he had come in to get their wine, he had deposited a couple of nitros there. With Teresa's knee still tender, he would have to take the lead tonight, but he was ready and willing. And if his angina flared up, he had his pills at his fingertips.

He helped her to their bed and undressed her slowly, planting random kisses onto her skin as it became exposed. Over their years together he had seen his wife in every light and every condition. Now, as they grew older, he found her more amazing and beautiful than ever. Once he had removed her clothes, she slipped into bed, and he disrobed quickly to join her. They were both surprised at how much they had missed this physical intimacy, and things heated up right away.

He primed her first with educated, skillful hands and expertly placed kisses, bringing her to the brink without going over. Then he moved over her and into her, taking care to avoid her sore knee. He was determined to give his wife exactly what she wanted tonight, and soon she found her release. He continued his motions, riding out her pleasure as long as possible. By the time he felt his own climax approaching, he realized he'd pushed himself too far, but there was no turning back. His release brought the familiar tightness in his chest along with his ecstasy.

The satisfied look on Teresa's face made him regret nothing, and he rolled onto his back beside her, stealthily reaching for his pills. Much to his dismay, they were gone. The heaviness in his chest was increasing rapidly, and perspiration dotted his upper lip. There didn't seem to be quite enough air, either.

"Patrick?" his wife asked, sensing something wasn't quite right.

"Un huh," he answered in a rather wheezy voice.

"Are you okay?" She was sitting up now, certain there was a problem.

"Pills," he said. "Had them here. By the bed. Must have fallen."

She was out of the bed as quickly as her knee would allow, scooting around on the floor on her good knee while keeping the bad one out straight. "Here!" she exclaimed when she located the tiny pills, and she pulled herself up so she could place one under his tongue.

He closed his eyes and waited, and over the next minute, the tightness eased and his breathing slowed to normal. When he opened his eyes, Teresa was sitting beside him on the bed looking as worried as he had ever seen her. "I'm fine now," he assured her.

"Here, take the other one," she said, trying to put it in his mouth.

"No, I'm fine. It'll just give me a headache."

Once she understood he was okay, her anger kicked in. "I'll give you a hell of a headache if you ever do that to me again! I should have known better."

"I'm fine," he insisted, dabbing his damp face with the corner of the sheet.

"You didn't look fine a few minutes ago," she insisted.

"Nothing to worry about. Happens all the time," he scoffed, and even as the words escaped his mouth, he realized what he'd just revealed.

She eyed him with an evil glare. "You've been doing this at home, haven't you? Hiding pills?"

He entertained denying it, but knew it was too late.

"Patrick Jane, you promise me that once my knee is working again, you will go to that cardiologist that Daniel Rigsby recommended. " (Wayne's son was a local Ob/Gyn, and a great resource of doctor referrals for them)

She would not be put off this time - he could see that. He had scared her too badly. "Okay," he said meekly.

"I will hold you to that," she said, her face stern. "And no more funny business until you do."

"Now that's not fair!"

"Why risk it?"

"It's a risk I'm more than willing to take, m'dear."

"I don't want you to take it," she said.

"I recall a similar conversation we had years ago," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"That was different," she said. "That was about my job."

"I assure you, making love to you is light years more important to me that any job ever was."

"Jane!" _That was her anger._ "Patrick." _Which had softened to concern._ Then he saw a frightened tear roll down her cheek as she whispered, "Please."

"Hey," he said softly. He propped himself up on one elbow and reached up to brush away her tears. "It'll be okay, Teresa. I've been doing this for months. It's not getting any worse."

"I don't want to lose you," she pleaded.

"You won't. Not now, anyway. Not because of this," he said, placing his palm on her cheek and looking her in the eye. A hint of a smile returned to her face.

"There," he said, smiling back. "We'll work it out. And after we're out of here, I'll go see the cardiologist. I promise," he added quietly.

"Okay," she nodded, sniffling a bit.

"Now, hop back in here, woman."

She squinted at him hard, giving him the evil eye.

"Teresa, love, come back to bed. Please."

With that, she laid down beside her husband, and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't ever do that to me again," she whispered.

"There are worse ways to go, you know," he observed, tilting his head with a smile.

"No! This is not a joke," she scolded, but then he was kissing her, and soon after that, the sound of the waves crashing had lulled them both to sleep.

XXXXXXXX

The next morning Jane was up at daybreak, rattling around the apartment, fixing tea and coffee, and checking for the autopsy report every three or four minutes. (Teresa had obtained the password for the law enforcement medical access system from an old friend, so they could read the information as soon as it came out.)

She hobbled into the bathroom to get ready, and when she emerged, Jane was waiting for her with a look of pure glee on his face.

"Guess what the autopsy showed?" he asked, wiggling like an excited puppy.

"Too early. No guessing." She had never been much of a morning person. "Tell me," she demanded.

"You're no fun," he pouted. "Just guess one thing."

"No!"

"Oh, okay. He died of a heart attack."

"So, so not funny, Jane."

He winced, He honestly hadn't thought about it that way. "It's true," he said. "But the reason he had the heart attack is most likely because his blood sugar was nearly zero."

"Huh?"

"And…" he made her wait until she looked sufficiently put out. "He had synthetic insulin in his bloodstream."

"So? He took too much insulin. How is that murder, Jane?"

"You might think that. But there's an important sticking point."

"Which is…"

"He wasn't diabetic."

Her eyes widened. "Whoops."

"Now get ready, Lisbon, we need to get to breakfast. Ms. Miller will have her staff assembled at nine, and I want to talk to them before that annoying policeman shows up."

"He's coming?"

"He'll be back when he reads this report. Now what can I do to help you be ready?" he asked impatiently.

"My chair?"

As he hurried over to fetch her wheelchair, she took a moment to appreciate how adorable he was, clucking around excitedly. He had scared her badly last night. She didn't want to contemplate her life without him. Not without this maddening, interesting, sweet, complex man.

"Ready?" he asked eagerly, patting the seat of the wheelchair.

She plopped down in the seat as he requested and ordered, "Breakfast, Jane."

"As you wish, madam," he said, bowing to her theatrically, and then he let loose one of those enormous, beautiful, sunny grins.

.

.

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Hope you enjoyed this installment. Donnamour's up next and i can't wait to see where she takes this.


	4. Chapter 4

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A/N: Donna here. Continued thanks to all those who are reading and commenting on our story. I hope you continue to enjoy it. I'm really having fun looking into the future, showing everyone that Jane and Lisbon are a love story for the ages.

**Chapter 4**

The thirty staff members of Oceanside Commons squeezed into the conference room just off Alice Miller's office. She had called everyone, from nurses to physical therapists to cooks and custodians, to the mandatory meeting, even if it was their day off. A skeleton crew manned the front desk and kept an eye on the patients through various monitors. Of course, all the employees had heard about Carl Edwards, along with the rampant speculation that his death had been a murder. Alice gave the official news that the man had passed away, and informed her people (at Jane's suggestion) that a police officer would be investigating the death—just as a formality, she reassured them.

Alice caught the wary looks of the people around her. No one liked to have the attention of the police, even if one was innocent, so she read nothing into any particular reaction. She generally thought she was a good judge of people, but she found as she looked at her staff that she was much better at gauging the emotions of her elderly clients.

With some relief, she watched as Patrick Jane wheeled his wife in, excusing himself repeatedly as he pushed through the crowd to the front of the room, joining Alice near the head of the long conference table.

"You might recognize Mr. and Mrs. Jane as two of our more recent clients, but what you may not know is they both were once with the FBI. The Janes have given me some valuable insight into Mr. Edwards's death, and he'd like to take this opportunity to ask a few questions of his own. Mr. Jane?"

"Thank you, Alice." He smiled his best smile, suddenly excited to be back in the spotlight, doing what he had always done best. "You all look like good, hardworking people. Well, I don't want to be a downer, but one of you murdered poor Mr. Edwards."

His eyes flitted around the room, resting on each face in turn as most of them registered startled reactions that ranged from annoyance to fear. "So," he continued, "Just to rule out the rest of you, I'd like to ask all of you to raise your hands, high above your heads, like so."

He raised his own arms, trying not to cringe a bit at the movement he himself had not performed in perhaps years.

There was a few moments of hesitation on the part of the employees, wherein most either looked at one another uncomfortably, or gave Jane a look like he was senile.

"Please," said Alice, though she too had her doubts, "do as he asked."

The rest of the hands went up.

"Good," said Jane. "Now, if you killed Carl Edwards, put your right hand down."

When no one complied, Lisbon rolled her eyes. "That one never works," she said under her breath. Jane, who still had excellent hearing, chose to ignore her.

"Okay, well…let's try one other thing, if you'll indulge me. Put your hands down please."

There was some low voiced grumbling as their arms lowered, but one stern look from Alice, and it ceased immediately. Jane continued, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Now, without thinking about it, I want you to look at the person you think is most capable of committing murder."

Jane grinned at the results.

Clearly one person had received the brunt of the involuntary gazes, a large man, a male nurse, whose perpetual frown Jane himself had noticed in their brief stay at Oceanside.

"You!" said Jane, pointing, making the man jump a bit. "Rory Kaufmann, isn't it?"

"What? Yeah." He glanced menacingly around at his coworkers. "Aw, come on. You gotta be kidding me," he huffed.

"And…you, Ms.—"

A middle-aged woman, one of two physical therapists on staff, looked positively stricken by the attention.

"Uh, Simpson," she said, her voice trembling.

"You, Ms. Simpson, were the only one who didn't look at anyone at all. As a matter of fact, you stared straight ahead, like a soldier in front of a drill sergeant."

Jane turned to Alice. "Miss Miller, would you mind if I spoke further to these two, alone?"

"Sure," said Alice, appearing extremely skeptical at his choices of suspects. "You can use my office."

Jane, Lisbon, and the two suspects went inside Alice's office. Jane pushed Lisbon in her chair to the right of Alice's desk, and Jane sat in the director's office chair, leaning back and steepling his fingers in a feigned interrogator's pose. The man and woman sat in front of the desk, in the same place Lisbon and Jane had sat weeks before.

"Should I get a lawyer or somethin'?" asked Rory, clearly agitated.

Jane smiled tightly for effect, then leaned forward. "Do you think you _need_ a lawyer, Rory?"

"This isn't an official investigation, Mr. Kaufmann," Lisbon said, trying to rein in the situation. Some things never changed, she thought, nostalgia sweeping over her. "You're welcome to leave at any time—"

"But your leaving will be interpreted as guilt," countered Jane, when Rory rose from his chair.

"Jane!"

Jane grinned. "I'm just messing with you, Rory. _I _personally won't think that. But certainly that's what others will think. Do you care what others think?"

"No," said Rory. But he sat down anyway.

Jane nodded. "Good choice." He focused now on Ms. Simpson. "I'm curious as to why you didn't look at anyone in the conference room, Ms. Simpson. Were you afraid of someone in particular?"

"It's _Mrs._ Simpson," she corrected him.

"Hmm?"

"_Mrs._…I'm married."

"Aw. And quite proud of that fact I take it. How nice for you. So answer my question, if you please. Who are you afraid of?"

Her eyes swept to her left, where Rory sat, then went immediately back to Jane.

"Aw," Jane said, in complete understanding. Rory turned his head, his own understanding dawning.

"Now, wait just a goddamn second! Have I ever done anything to hurt you, Hannah?" He half rose in his seat. "Have I?" he demanded, looming over her.

The poor woman sunk lower into her chair. "No," she said quietly. "Can I go now?"

Jane ignored her request.

"Clearly you have a very bad temper, Rory, topped off with a booming voice. You should probably have gone into radio, not nursing. Or maybe a boxing ring announcer…"

"What the hell?" said Rory. "I don't have to take this shit." He slammed the door leading to the hallway on his way out.

"You can go too, Mrs. Simpson," said Jane, when the walls stopped vibrating. "But don't leave town."

The therapist paused halfway to the door, looking back at Jane in surprise.

"He's just kidding," said Lisbon.

Mrs. Simpson returned to the conference room, even more discombobulated than when she'd left it.

"Now what did that accomplish?" Lisbon asked Jane, knowing by his satisfied expression that he'd gotten some answer he had sought. "Obviously neither of those two did it."

"Why do you say that?" he asked carefully.

"Because the tall, skinny man, second from the left in the conference room, looked extremely relieved when we brought Simpson and Kaufmann in here."

Jane sighed, but he was more proud than wounded. "You're right…And have I really become that predictable?"

"I've watched you work for nearly forty-five years, Jane; I think I've seen the entire contents of your bag of tricks by now."

He leaned over to her from his chair, nuzzled into her hair near her ear. "You should also have learned in that forty-five years never to underestimate me, Mrs. Jane," he whispered. She couldn't help the sensual shiver that still coursed through her at his nearness.

Neither of them heard the conference room door open, but then Alice Miller delicately cleared her throat.

"Excuse me. But did you uh, figure anything out?"

Jane lifted his head and smiled lovingly at his wife before turning back to Alice.

"We have a pretty viable suspect," he told her.

She looked genuinely shocked. "Which one is it? Simpson or Kaufmann?"

"Neither," they replied in unison.

The Janes looked at Alice with matching grins.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"His name is Scott Bailey," said Alice. "A recent hire from another facility."

"Why'd he leave the other place?" asked Lisbon.

"He said he wanted a job closer to home and to his elderly mother, whom he said was looking for placement in a retirement home near the beach. He was hopeful he'd be able to work in the place where she was living."

"I assume you did a thorough investigation of his past employment and qualifications," Jane said.

"Of course. I spoke to his immediate supervisor as well as the administrator. Nothing but glowing endorsements. He's been no trouble since he's been here."

"Does he seem to fit in with the other employees?" asked Lisbon.

"I confess I don't know," said Alice, slightly embarrassed. "I suppose you'd have to ask them."

"We definitely will," replied Jane. "And the way he reacted in the conference room tells us Bailey bears watching."

"You don't want to talk to him?" Alice asked.

"Not yet," said Jane. "Don't want to spook the guy. It would be best if we could catch him in the act of whatever he was doing that led to poor Mr. Edwards's death."

She nodded in understanding.

There came a knock on the conference room door, and at Alice's invitation, a nurse poked her head inside.

"Ms. Miller, there's a police officer here to see you."

"Right again," whispered Lisbon, and Jane looked pleased at her praise, since he'd predicted earlier the imminent return of the police.

Alice looked at Jane and Lisbon. "How's this going to work?" she asked them. "I'm sure the officer won't want you interfering with his official investigation."

"No, he won't," said Lisbon. "Jane, let's do what we can while he's chasing his tail in the conference room."

"Of course, my darling," said Jane, and he pushed Lisbon's wheelchair through the hallway door. "Just keep him occupied, will you?" Jane said to Alice.

"I'll do my best."

Out in the hallway, Lisbon pulled out her phone.

"Before we do anything else, we need to go back to our apartment," she told him. "I have a message from Marisa Cho."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Upon the video screen in their room, Lisbon posted the very last dialogue Marisa had retrieved from Edwards's electronic notebook. Jane pulled up a chair and sat beside her.

"How this works," Lisbon explained, "is the device automatically records a person's voice, then transcribes it onto the notebook so the hearing impaired can read their words right away. Then the impaired person can type in their reply and the computer will speak it out loud in a voice of their choosing."

"Nice," said Jane in admiration. "A good prop for the _un_-impaired Edwards."

"Yeah, well it's also a handy tool for investigators. Marisa said someone who wasn't particularly technologically savvy tried to delete the conversation, but she was able to pull it up easily. Unfortunately, the device doesn't save the actual voices; it only transcribes their words."

Together, they began to read:

Voice 1: …_these things are a thousand a piece. We can sell them for three times that in other countries, because the US is the only place you can get these pills right now. And there are what, five people here receiving treatment? At a hundred pills a person for each round of treatment…well, you do the math._

Voice 2: _But they're locked up tighter than Fort Knox, and I know they are counted carefully every time they are dispensed. They'll know if any are missing._

Voice 1: _That's the beauty of it, man. I know a guy-former pharmacist I did time with—he makes up dummy pills that look exactly the same. We take the real ones and replace them with the fakes. Like candy from a baby, I'm tellin' ya. I did this same shit at the last place I worked, no problem. I made a real killing. But I can't do it alone, man. I gotta have a partner._

Voice 2: _I don't know…I really don't want to go to prison._

Voice 1: _I swear on my mother's grave they'll never catch us. No one gets hurt—Hey! You eavesdropping, old man?_

Voice 2: _That's just old Carl. He's deaf. Didn't hear a thing, did ya, Carl? See?_

Voice 1: _But he's got one of those translators. Gimme that fuckin' thing, old man…_

"That's all he wrote," said Lisbon grimly.

Jane tapped his lower lip with one long finger, deep in thought.

"If Scott Bailey is our man, he's somehow changed his identity. I don't think Alice Miller would have hired an ex-con."

"And by their conversation, I'd say they are both men."

"I agree. That narrows it down some. The prospective partner would have been chosen because he has access to the drugs, narrowing things even more. And our murderer must have access to patient records, so he'd know who was on what medication. By the way, what pills out there are a thousand bucks a pop?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Don't you ever watch the news? That new Parkinson's cure. One hundred pills and they're cured completely. It's really a miracle."

"Oh, I did hear of that. It's called the Fox cure, right?"

"Yeah. Which makes this bastard even worse than a murderer. Think of those poor people, paying all that money and expecting a cure but not getting one because they're in effect, taking placebos."

"Hmm, well that might be something we could check, Lisbon. Patients out there who are on these meds who aren't being cured—we might be able to link Bailey back to the facility or hospital where they're located, get him for those crimes too."

"So, shall we take all this to the police?"

"Meh. The police. You know how they are, my darling. They'll ruin everything with all their rules of law and warrants and such. If they start sniffing around Bailey, he'll get spooked and be long gone before you know it. No, before we tell the coppers what we know, we get irrefutable evidence that Bailey's our man."

Lisbon sighed. The more things changed…

"Okay. But this guy is dangerous, Jane. And I can't exactly tackle perps these days with my bum knee. And your angina—"

Jane reached for her hand, placing it on his heart so she could feel its strong, steady beat. "Shhh…quit worrying about that. It's all under control." He brought her small hand to his lips. "There will be nothing heart-taxing about this, I promise, and no need for any tackling either. Once my plan goes into play—"

"Plan? What plan?"

"Aw, Lisbon, you should have known I'd have a plan. But I only just thought of it, so I need to work out some of the finer points."

"Well, I hope you're planning on filling me in on it for a change."

"Of course. You will play an integral part in it, sweetheart, I promise. It occurs to me that Carl Edwards foiled Bailey's initial plan, and his recruit is probably scared off by the murder. But those pills are still here, and a greedy bastard like Bailey isn't going to pass up all that money just because some old man got in his way. He'll need to find another way to access those drugs, and we need to catch _him_ in the act, not some partner he can pin the blame on. With the help of Ms. Miller, we'll try to provide one for him."

"Bait," said Lisbon.

"Precisely. And I know just the fisherman who can help us put it on the hook…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You want me to _fake_ having Parkinson's disease?" said Minnelli, his faded blue eyes narrowing on his former employee. "That's pretty sketchy, Jane, even for you."

"Oh, come on, Virgil. How many years has it been since you went undercover? It'll be fun."

"I always hated undercover jobs. Pain in the ass if you ask me. I'm not very good at pretending to be someone I'm not."

"It won't be a big deal—very little acting involved at all. " He grinned. "Just be your usual crotchety self—with a few noticeable tremors, jut for effect."

"Hmph," was his crotchety reply.

"See, just like that. Perfect."

"You being smart with me, Jane?"

He chuckled. "Look, Virgil, we'll see to it that our suspect is assigned to your care. You'll tell him you've been given the go-ahead for the Fox cure and you don't want to take it, but your wife is insisting. So you've been hiding and stockpiling the pills for weeks. You'll say you're too old, that it's too late for the treatment, too expensive—"

"Too old?" said the spry man in his nineties, offended.

Jane tried not to laugh. "You're _acting_, remember? Just be one of those overly chatty old men who likes to talk about his maladies."

Minnelli frowned. "I _don't_ chat."

"Virgil, I have every confidence in you," said Jane, still smiling. "And one more thing- you'll be going by a different name. We'll have to switch your name with a Fox cure recipient in the files. Bailey's relatively new here, so I'm sure he doesn't know all the patients yet. You've had no interactions with him, have you?"

"No."

"Excellent."

Jane turned to his wife. "Now, while Virgil's setting the trap, we need to figure out the identity of Bailey's would-be partner, get him to finger Bailey or else threaten to get him as an accessory to murder. That's where you come in, Lisbon."

"Oh?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

She had been watching him talking to Virgil, laying out his plan like his many plans of old, his excitement palpable as his amazing brain tackled something more challenging than the Sudoku puzzles he was still addicted to. She felt her heart lift at the familiar sparkle in his eye, the renewed vitality that now permeated their little apartment. She dimpled at him, loving him just as much now as she had the day he trapped his first suspect at the CBI by predicting dreams on slips of paper.

"Yes, Lisbon," he was saying, "I promised you'd be in on this, didn't I? Now, here's what you do…"

**A/N: Just a reminder that this story is set thirty years in the future, so by then I have great hopes that we will have found cures like I created above, not only for Parkinson's, but for cancer, Alzheimer's, AIDs, and all the other diseases that take away so many of our loved ones today. **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Hayseed Socrates is up next!**


	5. Chapter 5

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We don't own The Mentalist, clearly, because there was a finale. No copyright infringement is intended and no money was made from this endeavor.

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_AN: Thanks so much to those who reviewed Donna's chapter 4. I apologize for my delay in getting this next chapter written and posted, but there was the finale, and then I had two rounds of ice where I live, and then I went on vacation. (lame, I know) But I'm back, and here is the next installment. I hope you enjoy it!_

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Precious Days, Chapter 5

Lisbon had the likely accomplice identified in short order. If Scott Bailey _was_ the scheming person on the dead man's notebook records, as they suspected, the person he was recruiting had to be someone who had the capability of switching a patient's medications. There were only three people who loaded the medicine carts every day – one for each shift. Two were women, and one was a man – George Ambrose.

She used her FBI contacts to check out Ambrose, and sure enough, he had a sizable credit card debt racked up. A little more digging revealed that he was divorced, but had a disabled son with his ex-wife, and the son required a lot of specialized medical care. Expensive, no doubt. Most of that information would be easy enough to come by for a layperson, and Lisbon figured Scott Bailey had approached Ambrose knowing he was in need of some extra cash – a person likely to be tempted by his scheme.

She shared the information with Jane, who agreed with her assessment. Obviously, they needed to talk to Ambrose and get him to agree to help implicate Bailey. "But we've got a problem," she said to her husband. "We're not really law enforcement any more."

"You bring up a good point. We have no authority to offer Ambrose any kind of deal for squealing on Bailey, do we?"

"Which he is unlikely to do, unless it will help him in some way," Lisbon continued. "I'm going to have to talk to the local uniform and get him in on this."

Jane tilted his head back with a pained look on his face. "Really?"

"You know we have to. Even if we solve the case, we can't make an arrest."

As annoyed as Jane was with this situation, he knew she was correct. And it would do no good to catch the man if they couldn't put him away. "That cop is a buffoon who hates old people," he griped.

"Maybe so," Lisbon agreed, "but he's a buffoon with a badge."

"Why do you have to be so practical, m'dear?" Jane acquiesced with a smile.

XXXXXXXXX

Two hours later, the Janes waited with Alice Miller in her office. The local cop, Officer Hinton, finally arrived twenty minutes late. Clearly annoyed to be there, he shifted impatiently from foot to foot as they voiced their suspicions to him. They wrapped up their remarks with a request for him to accompany them as they interviewed the suspected accomplice. He might need to offer the man some terms in return for his cooperation in the case, they explained.

"And why, exactly, are you so convinced this is a murder?" Hinton obviously thought they were wasting his time.

"Because Mr. Edwards was dragged into the room, and because he wasn't even a diabetic, yet he had synthetic insulin in his system," Lisbon explained.

"What they are saying makes sense, Officer," Alice chimed in.

"Look lady," Hinton said, addressing his remarks to Alice. "I think one of the nurses at this place accidently gave some poor guy some insulin by mistake, and these two senile old clowns," he tilted his head dismissively toward Jane and Lisbon, "are trying to make it into a murder case so they can feel important again."

Jane made his "yikes" face, because he knew what was coming.

"_This_ senile old clown thinks you are a poor excuse for a police officer!" Lisbon shot back.

"You'd better back off, lady. You may have been FBI a long time ago – though I'm not sure I believe that - but you've got no juice now, and…"

"I have enough juice to know you're not doing your job."

"Let it be, darlin', or I swear, I will cuff you and take you straight downtown."

Jane winced. Patronizing his wife was not a wise choice, and threatening her was an even poorer one.

"Really? For what? Having a brain?" Lisbon ranted.

"Now dear," Jane interjected, "Let's calm down. Your blood pressure, you know," he said.

Lisbon frowned. She didn't have high blood pressure.

Jane took a step toward Hinton and pretended to stumble, catching himself against the cop. "So…so sorry, bad hip," Jane stammered. He righted himself clumsily, backing away to stand beside his wife, and he took her hand. "Darling, don't be so hard on this poor man. He wouldn't recognize a murder if it bit him in the ass."

"I don't have to put up with this crap," Hinton glared at Jane.

"Officer Hinton, if you're not going to investigate this case, I'm going to call your director," Lisbon threatened.

"That's it, grandma, you're going downtown." Hinton's face was red as a beet.

"On what charge?"

"Interfering with an investigation. And a bunch of other stuff," he snarled.

"But you're not _investigating_, so how can I be _interfering_?" Lisbon asked with a snort.

"And harassing an officer of the law," he shot back.

She and Jane exchanged a quick glance. "Okay," she said, extending her arms forward with her wrists touching. "Cuff me."

The officer reached behind him, only to find that his cuffs were nowhere to be found. "What the hell?"

"Looking for these?" Jane grinned, producing the cuffs from his coat pocket and dangling them in front of Hinton.

"Gimme those," the cop growled, grabbing for his cuffs.

"Ah ah ah.." Jane said, deftly snatching them back.

Alice Miller put her hand over her mouth, trying to suppress a smile.

Hinton was furious. "I'll take you downtown too, old man – don't get smart with me."

"Now, now, let's talk about this like civilized people, shall we? This can go one of several ways." He looked closely at the officer's badge to find his first name. "Larry, it's your decision. I can call the local TV news and tell them the story of how a geriatric patient stole your handcuffs – cuffs that you were about to put on an elderly woman with a bad knee."

Hinton eyed Jane, fuming.

"Or, I can call the deputy director of the FBI and have him talk to your boss. I have him on speed dial."

"You're full of shit. You do not."

"Do, too!" Jane taunted. "Darling," he asked Lisbon, "Is Jason Wylie's daughter Michelle a senior this year?"

"No, just a junior," she corrected him.

He leaned toward Hinton, as if he was about to share a secret with him, and lowered his voice. "Jason is not a man you want to get on the bad side of. They call him _The Coyote_…" Jane warned, widening his eyes. He pulled out his phone and showed Hinton the number for one 'Jason Wylie' on his speed dial list.

Hinton looked shocked.

"Or, you could avoid all this unpleasantness entirely, apologize to my lovely wife, and agree to do your job. Or at least let us do it for you."

"I'm not…"

Jane held his finger above his phone, threatening to press the "call" button.

"Wait."

Alice Miller was now staring at her shoes, trying her best not to laugh.

"Wise choice, Officer Hinton. Now apologize, and we will fill you in on the plan. You can even take credit for the arrest."

Hinton was smart enough to realize he'd been outdone. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to listen to your plan," he grumbled. "What is it?"

"Nope, not yet." Jane lowered his head as if he were looking over glasses, and tipped his head toward Lisbon.

"You've got to be…"

Jane put his finger over the call button one more time.

The younger man took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I didn't realize you had been in law enforcement."

"Apology accepted," Lisbon smiled.

"That's better," Jane said. "Now, here's what we're going to need."

XXXXXXX

George Ambrose, the would-be accomplice, cracked like an egg. A balding, potbellied man of about forty, he hardly looked the part of a villain. Yes, he admitted, Scott Bailey had approached him about exchanging fake pills for real pills, confirming what they knew from the records on Edward's electronic notebook. But the scheme with the pill swap hadn't actually begun yet.

Yes, he confirmed, Bailey had asked him to turn off the security cameras for a few minutes the day Edwards was killed, but Ambrose insisted that he didn't know why. He'd assumed the other man was exchanging pills somewhere, or getting things ready to do so. Instead, Bailey had used the surveillance blackout time to inject the victim with insulin, possibly under the guise of drawing blood, or so they surmised.

"Jesus, I had no idea he was going to hurt somebody. I was horrified when I found out about poor Mr. Edwards," Ambrose insisted. "When I said something to Bailey, he told me that Edwards wasn't really deaf - that he knew about the plan to switch the pills. He said I should thank him because he had saved both of us from possibly going to jail."

Bailey's original plan was to supply the fake pills to Ambrose, who would switch them with the real pills in the medicine cart every other day. That way the patients would still be responding somewhat to the medicine, and no one would suspect anything. When he had a hundred or so pills, Bailey planned to sell them and split the profits sixty/forty with Ambrose. The key to the scam, he maintained, was knowing when to stop, before you got caught. He claimed he had already done this at two other facilities successfully, without anyone suspecting a thing.

"I know I shouldn't have been tempted, but do you know what that kind of money could do for my son? There are lots better treatments he could be getting," Ambrose sighed heavily. However, he was quick to add, "I would have never have considered it, though, if I'd known there was going to be violence involved. I had no inkling he was going to kill anyone."

"What's wrong with your son?" Hinton asked.

"Born with spina bifida. He can't walk."

Hinton nodded knowingly. "My brother's a paraplegic," he said, looking at Ambrose with a new level of sympathy.

"That's it, isn't it?" Jane interjected. "That's why you detest old people so much, isn't it, Officer Hinton? An elderly person caused your brother's accident."

Hinton looked straight at Jane. "My brother was sitting in a tire shop, waiting to get a flat fixed. A car came barreling into the store through the plate glass window and hit him. Some tottery old dude who should never have been driving – apparently he hit the gas instead of the brake. Gary's been paralyzed ever since."

"I'm sorry," Jane said sincerely. "But I do need to point out that the people in this facility are here because they know they need help. They're not out there driving around, injuring innocent people."

Hinton shrugged his shoulders. "Guess you're right. But it's hard to shake."

They turned their attention back to the matter at hand. The only thing Ambrose had actually done wrong so far was turn off the security cameras, the policeman noted. He wasn't a bad man, just a desperate one. Therefore, in return for Ambrose's cooperation in the sting, the officer offered him a decent deal that didn't involve jail time. Ambrose accepted the deal readily, and seemed genuinely relieved that he could help catch Bailey.

With that settled, Jane laid out his plan. Alice Hinton would assign the suspect, Bailey, to Virgil Minelli's floor tomorrow, and Virgil would assume the identity of a current Parkinson's patient, Bob Capra.

"When Bailey 'accidently' discovers Minelli – undercover as Capra - is hoarding his meds, I'm quite certain he won't be able to resist taking them." Then, Jane explained, the dominoes would start to fall, and they would be ready to spring their trap on Bailey.

XXXXXXXX

The next day, Scott Bailey was nearly done with his medicine rounds on his newly assigned floor when he arrived at room 211. His electronic patient inventory said that Bob Capra, a patient suffering from Parkinson's disease, lived in this apartment. He was one of the patients that took the drug he planned to replace with fakes. He knocked on the door. "Mr. Capra?"

Virgil Minelli, posing undercover as Capra, called out, "'Come in!"

Bailey entered the room to find the older man sitting in his recliner. "Mr. Capra?"

"Yeah, that's me. Still alive and kicking. Well, alive anyway. You're new aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm new to this floor," Bailey replied.

"Come to give me my poison, have you?"

"Well, it's hardly poison, sir."

"Hrumph," Capra aka Minelli griped, rolling his eyes. "I don't have Parkinson's disease. I keep tellin' em that," he muttered.

"Well, the doctors think you do, so I need for you to take this pill." Bailey handed him the medicine – the kind he was planning to steal in the future – and gave him a small cup of water to wash it down.

Capra aka Minelli pretended to put the pill in his mouth, and downed the water. As soon as Bailey turned to go, he reached into the table drawer beside him and pulled out a sock filled with similar pills, adding this new one to the stash. Then he purposefully dropped it on the floor and muttered, "Damn."

Bailey turned around, shocked to see his patient desperately trying to hide the pill filled sock and gather his spilled meds.

"Mr. Capra? What are_ those_?" he frowned.

"Don't tell anybody, " Minelli pleaded, his eyes darting around the room wildly. "Please."

Bailey paused for a moment, thinking. "How long have you been hoarding these?" he asked.

"Couple of months…maybe more. Time gets away from me these days. Please don't tell my wife," he begged. "I'm old."

Bailey knelt down and picked up the pills that had spilled onto the floor, dropping them back into the sock. He estimated the sock contained at least seventy-five pills, maybe more. He held a gold mine in his hands.

"I'll tell you what, Mr. Capra, you seem like a nice guy. I won't tell your wife, and I'll take these pills so you won't get caught with them, either."

"Why would you do that?" the older man eyed him suspiciously. "Why would you help me?" he asked. "Are you sure you won't tell her?"

"I won't tell your wife, but you have to promise that you will take your pills from now on. That's the deal."

"But I don't have…"

"Mr. Capra, do you want me to tell your wife?" he threatened.

"No. God, no! Take the sock. And I'll take the pills from now on. Promise." Virgil aka Capra held up an arthritic hand as if to swear.

"OK, we have a deal then, right? No one will know."

"Okay," the old man nodded. "Don't tell my wife," he repeated.

"Don't worry. We're good," Bailey assured him, as he slipped the sock full of pills into his white tunic pocket. "See you tomorrow, Mr. Capra."

As soon as Bailey was out of his apartment, Minelli grabbed his phone and made a call. "Patrick?"

"Right here," Jane answered.

"Hook, line, and sinker," Minelli chuckled. "He's got the pills."

"Thanks, Virgil. I'll be sure and nominate you for an Oscar."

"Just catch this bastard. He has beady eyes, and he thinks I'm a fool."

"Will do," Jane promised. He was speaking from the room that contained the surveillance cameras, where he sat with Alice Miller, Officer Hinton, and George Ambrose. Jane nodded to Ambrose. "Bailey's got the pills. Call him now."

The would-be accomplice did as Jane asked, and called Bailey, who was still working his way down the second floor hallway, delivering meds. "Bailey, we need to talk."

"About what?"

"You know."

"Look…we didn't…"

"Right now, Bailey, or I'm out."

"Oh all right," he agreed, none too pleased. "I've got to pass meds in two more rooms."

"Okay, meet me in the dispensary in ten minutes," Ambrose said, and disconnected. He turned to Jane. "He's coming."

"Excellent," Jane said, rubbing his hands together. "Okay, places everyone."

Officer Hinton went up to Ms. Purcell's room – the woman who was Edwards' friend, and supposed keeper of the notebook in question – while Ambrose went down the hall to the first floor dispensary to wait for Bailey. Jane and Alice Miller stayed in the surveillance room to watch until they were needed.

Jane had insisted that Lisbon steer clear of the actual sting. Though she was now able to walk around the room with her walker, she couldn't be of much help at this point, and she might end up being in the way if they had to move quickly. She'd cheerfully opted to stay in their apartment and put in some time on her memoirs while the plan played out.

Jane and Alice watched on the monitors as Bailey walked into the dispensary room where Ambrose waited. The door had a glass window, but once Bailey closed it, the angle was such that they could only listen to the conversation on the bug that Hinton had placed in the room.

Bailey started the conversation. "I've been thinking – maybe we _shouldn't_ do this. You're really jumpy." He made no mention of the treasure trove of pills hidden in his pocket.

"The law _is_ snooping around a lot," Ambrose agreed.

"What do the cops have?" Bailey asked.

"They've been asking some questions, but all they _know_ is that Edwards had some insulin in him."

"Then it's mostly that ex-FBI magician dude and his wife, isn't it?" Bailey noted. "Busybodies."

"They've been asking questions, that's for sure."

"Well, as you say, they've got nothing on us. There's no evidence. We haven't switched any pills yet."

"There's that electronic notebook of Edwards. He recorded our conversation."

"I erased that."

"Are you sure?" Ambrose asked, not convinced.

"I think so. Besides, it'll get packed away in his stuff, won't it? Nobody will look at it, now that he's dead."

"That may not be true. His girlfriend took it. As a memento – it had some poems he wrote her or some such shit," Ambrose said.

"His girlfriend? That old dude had a girlfriend? Who is it?"

"Ms. Purcell."

Just then they both looked up to see Alice and Jane walk down the hall outside of the dispensary, engaged in conversation. They purposefully took no notice of Bailey and Ambrose in the room.

"See?" Ambrose said. "He's still asking questions. I hope they don't find that notebook."

"Nosy bastard – that old fart needs something else to occupy him," Bailey muttered. "If I got rid of that notebook, would you be willing to forget that all of this happened?"

"Yeah, I would," Ambrose agreed, but then added with alarm, "You're not going to hurt Ms. Purcell, are you? I don't want anyone else hurt."

"No need for that. Can you find out on the main computer when she'll likely be out of her room? I'll go snatch the thing and destroy it."

"Sure, okay." Ambrose called up her schedule on the facility's main computer, which had been doctored to show she was temporarily out. "She just left for the group beach walk. She'll be gone for the next forty-five minutes. Her room number is 318." (In reality, Alice Miller had arranged to spirit a delighted Ms. Purcell out of the facility on an all day art gallery crawl on the Oceanside bus.)

"Perfect. I'll go get it right now. Then will you be satisfied that they have no evidence? You'll need to turn off the security cameras for half an hour."

"I can do that," Ambrose agreed nervously. "Give me a couple of minutes."

"And then go find that FBI dude and keep him occupied. He just walked past. Can't have him snooping around," Bailey said.

"Okay," Ambrose agreed.

Bailey left the dispensary and disappeared into the restroom, awaiting the go ahead from the other man, while Ambrose went to the room where the surveillance monitors were lo cated. He did not, however, turn anything off. He called Bailey and lied, "Okay, everything is black. Go."

"And we never talk again," Bailey confirmed.

"Right."

As soon as Bailey was on the elevator, Ambrose called Jane. "He's on the elevator on the way to Ms. Purcell's room." Jane and Alice joined Ambrose in the surveillance room, and Jane called Officer Hinton.

"Bailey's on his way."

"Well I'll be damned," Hinton said. "So it worked. I'm ready for him." He would wait in Ms. Purcell's bathroom until Bailey found the notebook they'd left on the table in her room, and then he would nab the man with notebook and pills in hand.

Jane, Alice and Ambrose watched Bailey emerge from the elevator onto the 3nd floor, and he walked straight down the hall toward her room.

Jane grinned at Alice. "It's working," she said, shaking her head in amazement.

But just before he reached the apartment door, Bailey paused, and pulled out his electronic patient list.

"He must be making sure it's her apartment, " Ambrose observed. "I told him the number," he grumbled, annoyed that Bailey apparently didn't even trust him with that.

But instead of entering Ms. Purcell's apartment, Bailey turned and headed back toward the elevator. They all sat up, alarmed. "Where's he going?" Alice asked.

Jane stood up suddenly, a look of panic on his face. "Teresa!" He punched her number into his phone, but got sent straight to voice mail. She always turned her phone off when she was writing.

"You think he's going after her?" Alice asked, confused.

Ambrose frowned. "He did seem angry at Mr. Jane and his wife. He said they needed a new hobby, or some such thing, and asked me to keep Mr. Jane busy."

Jane called Hinton. "Bailey is going after my wife – she's in room 507. Get up there now – I'm on my way." Jane turned to Alice. "Stay here and watch the monitors, and let us know if anything changes. And get anybody who might be near to go to room 507. Now!"

"Right," Alice agreed, but Jane was already out the door and on the way to the elevator. He punched the call buttons over and over, but the elevator remained on the 5th floor. He glanced at the stairs, and made a decision.

XXXXXXXX

Teresa Lisbon was finding the Red John takedown difficult to write about. How could she tell what happened without actually implicating her husband as a murderer? She sat at her desk, puzzling over the dilemma without much success, and decided to make the trek to the bathroom. Maybe inspiration would come with a little "exercise." It was nice to be independent again, even if it was at a snail's pace.

She patiently accomplished her mission, and as she exited the bathroom, she heard a key card being swiped in the apartment door. "Patrick?" she called out, surprised that he would be done so soon. The door opened, but instead of her husband, there stood Scott Bailey.

"Hello there, Mrs. Jane," he said with a smile that didn't begin to reach his eyes. She knew instantly he was up to no good, and she had to think fast. She pulled open the closet door to her right. Partly out of Bailey's line of sight, she yanked her cross necklace from her neck and dropped it into the floor of the closet. The ring and the cross both landed conveniently close to her shoeboxes. Then she knelt down carefully and laid down on the floor, reaching into the boxes.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here!" she lied. "You're new aren't you? Clumsy me, I've dropped my necklace. You're a nice young man, maybe you can help me?"

"Why, yes," he answered, his voice sickly sweet. "I'll help you find it." As he walked toward her, she slipped her hand into a shoebox, locating her Glock. Now only a couple of steps away, Bailey's voice took on a sinister tone. "Say goodnight, 'cause your lights are going out forever. I'll teach _you_ to mind your own business. They'll think you slipped, poor old dear – and a funeral will keep that nosy husband of yours plenty busy."

Lisbon turned on her side, chambered a round into her pistol, and shot a very surprised Bailey in the shoulder, knocking him backward halfway across the living room and into a sitting position on the floor. She rested there on her side while keeping her gun trained on the still conscious man. '"Guess you're not such a nice young man after all."

He made an attempt to get up.

"Don't even think about it, dirt bag," she snarled, and he sank back down, holding his bleeding shoulder.

XXXXXXXX

That last flight of steps was the one that did him in. As Jane opened the door from the stairwell to the 5th floor hall, he saw Officer Hinton ahead of him, running down the hall toward their room, and then he heard the report of a gunshot. That sound spurred him to ignore the tightness in his chest and he hobbled down the hall, fighting for breath as he went. Hinton disappeared into their apartment door, and it was several long seconds before Jane reached the entrance as well.

He peered into the room and saw Hinton cuffing Scott Bailey, who was prone on the floor. He didn't see Lisbon, so he staggered into the room. "Teresa," he tried to shout, but he was so short of breath the word came out as a whisper.

He searched the room with his eyes and saw his wife's legs and lower body, lying on the floor. From his angle from the entry, the upper part of her was hidden behind the closet door.

"Teresa! No, no," he said, shuffling toward her on legs that were refusing to hold him.

She heard him the second time. "Jane?" she called out, though she still couldn't see him. "Thank goodness you're here – would you help me find my cross and the ring? And then haul me up off of this floor?" Slightly annoyed he wasn't coming to help her, she closed the closet door enough so she could see her husband, and when she did, her face went pale. "Patrick? What's the matter?"

Finally, Jane could see she wasn't hurt. He sank to his knees, and reached into his pocket for his nitroglycerin pills.

A now frantic Lisbon managed to scramble to her feet by herself, while Jane placed a pill under his tongue. In the time it took her to reach his side with her walker, the pill would normally have kicked in, but her husband was still in distress. "Can't breathe. Need another one," he gasped, putting another tiny pill in his mouth.

"Oh God. Oh God. Patrick! You need to go to the hospital," she said, panicking. Jane nodded his head in agreement, which alarmed her even further. "Hinton, call an ambulance," she barked. "It's his angina."

"Hey, what about me?" Bailey whined, still face down on the floor, bleeding on the carpet.

"You shut up," she growled.

Hinton gave his cuffed hands a little jerk to emphasize her instructions. "What the lady said, asshole," he agreed, looking at Lisbon with a newfound respect.

Jane slumped down into a sitting position, leaning on the foyer wall behind him, and Lisbon eased herself down beside him. "Just take it easy," she cooed, while Hinton called an ambulance. Then he phoned Alice Miller, asking for any assistance she could send.

"I love…you and…Austin, you…know that," he managed to get out, taking several breaths between every couple of words. His face was damp with perspiration and there was real fear in his eyes.

"Shh, I know, sweetie. He knows, too."

"Too many…steps," he explained, giving her a weak half smile.

"You climbed the steps? You're an idiot, Patrick Jane."

"He was…coming…for you," he panted.

"When will you learn that I don't need saving?" she said kindly, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek as she said a silent prayer.

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Thanks for reading! Donna is up next.


	6. Chapter 6

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A/N: Donna here. I just wanted to thank you all for reading and reviewing this story. It was certainly a labor of love for both Hayseed and me. And thanks to her for this wonderful idea, and for allowing me to tag along with her. It's been a true pleasure.

**Chapter 6: Conclusion**

Jane awoke slowly, first his mind registering his own consciousness, before he heard familiar voices speaking in hushed tones.

"What an idiot," said Kimball Cho.

"I think he's a hero," said Grace Rigsby adoringly. "Risking his life to save the boss's."

"No," replied Minnelli, "You're right, Kimball. Man his age has no right to be climbing five flights in one go. Now, had it been me…"

Jane heard Wayne Rigsby chuckle. "All of you are right, to some degree—"

"Hush, all of you." This was Lisbon, whose small hand was in his. "He needs his rest."

They complied as if she were still their boss of old, and Jane grinned. She was still the spunkiest, most wonderful woman in the world. When the silence extended, Jane gradually opened his eyes, squinting against the fluorescent light of his hospital room.

"Did somebody die?" he croaked over his dry throat.

There was a chorus of "Jane!" and Lisbon squeezed his hand, bending over his bed to kiss his cheek. She smelled achingly familiar: the lily of the valley hand lotion he'd bought her for Christmas.

"Thank God," he heard her whisper, as her warm lips left his cool cheek. He missed that warmth immediately.

His eyes fully open, he beheld her beautiful face, no less adorable to him with the added lines about her eyes and lovely mouth.

"Teresa," he managed hoarsely, and just as she had always anticipated his needs, she placed a straw between his lips and he sucked down blessedly cool water.

His eyes rested on the others in the room, welling a bit as he beheld gray-haired Cho, stoically holding vigil at the foot of his hospital bed. Grace stood nearby, her sherry eyes bright with unshed tears, her once titian hair now the palest strawberry blonde, bound in a low bun at her nape. She was a bit thicker around her middle, but that's what thirty years and three children could do to a woman. Then there was Rigbsy, the only one among them who hadn't retained his full head of hair. Balding and somewhat portly, the tall man stood by his wife near the window, grinning in that pleasant way Jane remembered.

"My old friends," Jane said, touched deeply by their presence there, by their loyalty in coming to be with Lisbon as she waited. "Thank you."

They all joked and offered equal chastisement and congratulations on a case well-solved. And it was then that a knock came on the door of Jane's private room. Rigsby went to open it, and the next moment, Jane smelled the spicy scent of pepperoni and cheese.

"Case-closed pizza!" Rigsby announced, setting the box on the rolling table near Jane's bed.

"You're kidding," said Cho. "The guy just woke up."

"I missed lunch," said Rigsby defensively. "It was a long drive…"

Jane grinned. "You guys eat up. I think I'll stick to Jell-O and hospital gruel for now."

"Your story was all over the news," said Grace, shaking her head as her husband snagged two pieces of pizza, one for each hand. She lowered her voice in imitation of a newscaster: _"Elderly sleuths bring down a murderer and an assisted living drug ring."_

Lisbon frowned, but Jane's smile widened in appreciation. "Really?"

"It wasn't exactly a ring," said Lisbon.

"I saw another headline that called you a _pistol-packin' grandma_," offered Rigsby over a mouthful of pizza.

"Well that's not very specific," said Cho. "Lisbon uses a Glock."

"And she's not a grandma," added Grace. "Well, not yet."

"Seriously though," said Rigsby, "I can't believe you two. Who would have thought you'd still be solving crimes at your age?"

"We still got it," said Jane. "And don't forget Virgil here. Best undercover job since the Wolcott case, remember?"

"Oh, my God," exclaimed Grace, her eyes turning nostalgic. "The pickup artist! Cho, you were so great."

"Well, you should have seen Virgil," said Jane. "He would have given the Ice Man here a run for his money." Jane's smile seemed suddenly to take much more effort.

Lisbon noticed right away. "I think he's getting over-tired, and his doctor is due any minute to check on him."

"All right," said Minelli. "We can take a hint. Come on kids." The old man moved to Jane's bed and placed a frail hand on his arm. "Glad you're okay, Jane."

"Thanks, Virgil. For everything."

Minelli's winked one blue eye at Lisbon and nodded, hobbling slowly toward the door. Cho stepped in to offer his old boss his support. Rigsby said his goodbyes and snagged the pizza box while Van Pelt left Jane with a kiss on the cheek and a reassuring smile for Lisbon.

Alone at last, Lisbon began fussing over Jane's bedding, moving to press the page button for the nurse to bring him his dinner. She actively avoided meeting his eyes. Jane stayed her, his hand over hers.

"Hey," he said. "Slow down, Teresa. I'm all right."

Lisbon stopped what she was doing and stared at her husband. To his dismay, her lower lip began to tremble, her eyes filling with the tears she had been holding back since he opened his eyes.

"Come here," he whispered, and she sat on the bed beside him, weeping with relief into his neck. His hand came up to rest on her soft hair, and he kissed her temple tenderly.

"I could kill you for going up those stairs like that," she said. "That is probably the most selfish thing you've ever done in your life, and that's saying a lot."

"Well, I almost took care of the killing part myself," he said, remembering with a twinge of his newly modified heart, his desperation to get to her, to save her as he had tried to do for most of his life. When he thought of how closely he had come to losing her, how closely they had come to losing _each other_, the old doubts and fears borne of his first wife's death suffused him with horrifying familiarity.

"Well, you had no business—" she began.

"Bailey was going to kill you," interrupted Jane seriously, arching his neck away from her so he could look into her face. "There was no choice, do you understand? I would do the exact same thing again under those circumstances."

She saw the intensity of the love in his eyes, and as she had done for nearly forty years, she forgave him completely.

"You're lucky I love you so much," she said, shaking her head in mild exasperation.

Jane reached up a hand and wiped at a tear at the corner of her misty green eye.

"That, my love, is an understatement." He pressed his lips to gently to hers.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A week later, Jane sat in Lisbon's old wheelchair at Oceanside Commons. They were outside on the patio, Jane in the sun, Lisbon sitting beneath an umbrella in a deck chair, reading a crime novel on her tablet. Jane dozed in the warmth, the sound of the distant waves soothing and relaxing his active mind.

He was breathing much easier now, both literally and figuratively. His ticker had been modified with the latest technology, completed by the top robotic surgical machine on the market. He felt better than he had in years, and though he would never admit this to Lisbon, he wished he had done this five years before. There were no guarantees in this life, as Jane well knew, but his doctor predicted the procedure would extend his life indefinitely.

They agreed to spend his brief convalescence back at the assisted living facility, where they were now treated like celebrities by the staff and fellow patrons alike.

His eyes still closed behind his sunglasses, Jane reached out and took his wife's hand, feeling her comforting touch warm him even more than the California sun. This, thought Jane, was most definitely the life. Suddenly, however, a shadow blocked the sun, and a familiar voice jarred him from a refreshing catnap.

"Well, don't you two look like a couple of movie stars at the beach."

A handsome young man in Marine Corps fatigues stood before them, a gorgeous redhead at his side. Jane had to blink twice to register that the young woman was not in fact her mother, though her sparkling blue eyes most certainly came from her dad.

Despite her own recent surgery, Lisbon jumped spryly to her feet, reaching up to embrace her son, tears springing to her eyes.

"Oh, Austin," she breathed, happiness threatening to make her heart burst. "My beautiful little boy."

Austin chuckled at the irony of her old endearment, as he towered over his mother now by a good twelve inches. He kissed his mother's cheek and squatted down by his father, while Lisbon moved to hug Maddie Rigsby.

Jane's chest was still tender from his surgery, but he sat up straighter in his wheelchair to receive his son's strong embrace. He patted him on the back, closing his eyes in sheer pleasure, pride, and gratitude. He took Maddie's hand, kissing the back of it so gallantly, Lisbon rolled her eyes.

"When did you get back stateside?" Jane asked, as Austin pulled up a chair for first Maddie, then himself.

"Yesterday, actually. Maddie picked me up at Travis, and she was kind enough to drive me down here."

"Hmm…that was very kind indeed." said Jane knowingly, pleased when Maddie blushed. Just like her mother, he thought nostalgically.

"We're so glad you're home," said Lisbon, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. "How long can you stay?"

"Well, that's the thing, Mom." He took a deep breath. "I've decided to retire from the Corps. I've accepted a job offer…from the FBI. I have to spend several weeks at Quantico, but given my _connections_," he said, his eyes twinkling, "I'm getting put on the fast track."

"What?" said Lisbon excitedly. "You're kidding me! That's wonderful!"

Jane's reaction was decidedly mixed. It had been scary enough when he had enlisted in the Marine Corps years ago, and there had been many arguments in which Jane had tried to talk him out of it. The idea of sending his only son into harm's way was nearly too much for him to bear. It had taken a couple of years before he accepted it, and while he had hidden his fears from Austin, Lisbon had known how upsetting it was for him. She had felt the same, of course, but she looked at his duty from the perspective of a retired cop. Serving your country was a calling, Lisbon felt, while to Jane it had started as a means to a personal end, an occupation filled with too much death and corruption.

But Austin had distinguished himself in battle, had made Jane as proud as if he had earned those medals and stripes himself. But Jane had hoped that once Austin left the Marine Corps, he would find some cushy civilian job and settle down. Glancing at Maddie, he could tell that she had wanted the same thing for Austin. She had likely been hesitant about being with a man who was always inches away from possible death. This, Jane realized, had been the _real _stumbling block to their forming a relationship beyond friendship, not the slight age difference. Jane well knew what that was like.

Maddie's lips were pursed into a tight smile. She had barely said a word beyond welcoming pleasantries, and something told him the drive from Northern California had been a tense one.

"What field office would you be working from?" asked Lisbon hopefully.

"Well…that's the thing. I want to stay in California, but there's an opening in San Diego…_or_ one up in San Francisco." He avoided looking at Maddie. "I haven't decided which yet."

Jane glanced at Lisbon. She too realized the reason behind the kids' tension.

"That _is_ a choice," she said, trying to calm her own personal excitement that their son could be down here closer to them.

Beside Austin, Maddie's eyes watered, and she stood jerkily. "Excuse me," she said, and she trotted down the path toward the beach. Austin remained seated, watching helplessly as she left. No one said anything for a long moment.

"Have you told her how you feel?" asked Jane.

When he looked at his father, Jane recognized his son's expression completely. It was the ache of indecision, the fear of putting himself out there, of taking what he really wanted and running with it, damning the consequences.

"Not in so many words," he admitted. "She must know how I feel, what she means to me." He laughed humorlessly. "Hell, I've been trying to get her to go out with me since we were kids."

"She might know it in her mind, sweetheart," said Lisbon gently. "But until you say the words out loud, she won't know it in her heart."

Jane reached out for his son's arm, looking intently into eyes as green as his own. "Listen to me, Son. Don't be an idiot, like I was once. These days are precious—trust me, I know- and you're wasting them by not asking for what you really want in life. This other stuff, the where's and the wherefore's—that's just logistics. If you love each other, you'll find a way to work it out. But you've got to take that first step."

Austin stared bleakly out at Maddie, who had taken off her sandals and was staring out at the Pacific, her long hair blowing in the wind, her skirt billowing around her. Jane and Lisbon understood exactly what the young couple was feeling. They were taken back to that long ago day at a Florida resort, when it had boiled down to making the choice between merely existing and truly living.

"If it's your father and I you're worried about," Lisbon said. "Don't. We'll be fine. We're only a few hours away from San Francisco. And that's a hell of a lot closer than Australia, isn't it? We won't have to go months without seeing you."

"You know what to do, Austin," added Jane, sitting back in his chair. He had confidence his son would do the right thing.

Austin stared at Maddie, saw her beginning to walk further down the beach. Further away from _him_.

He stood abruptly, kissing each of his parents on the forehead with a loud smack.

"Thanks," he said. "I love you guys!" He took off at a full run toward the beach.

Lisbon rose and sat on her husband's lap, watching as her only child finally left the nest for good. Sure, he would come home from time to time, bring his wife and children, but he would never be completely hers again. And that, she realized, was how it was supposed to be.

She sniffled a little as she watched Austin take Maddie's arm, turn her around and finally confess how much he loved her. Maddie appeared to stare at him in shock for a moment, and then she was in his arms. Lisbon closed her eyes and made a sound that was half sob, half laugh.

"You're a good mother, easing his guilt like that about us," said Jane, kissing her graying hair.

"No," admitted Lisbon. "Just a realistic one. I never would want him to resent us for holding him back. And you were right. We wasted a lot of days once upon a time by not being honest with ourselves, or with each other."

"Perhaps, but I think we've more than made up for the first ten with the last thirty, don't you agree?"

She smiled against his chest. "Definitely."

They watched the young couple in the distance, holding hands, talking animatedly as they walked on the beach, no doubt beginning the long arguments that would lead them to the good stuff ahead.

"Why couldn't you have confessed your true feelings for me on a romantic beach instead of in a stuffy old airplane?" Lisbon mused conversationally.

"Aw, Teresa, you know I never do things the conventional way. It's all about the show, the drama, about leaving them wanting more…"

"Well you totally failed then, my love," she told him with a contented sigh. "I've never wanted anything more than this…"

Snuggling into his chest, Lisbon listened happily to the strong beating of her husband's beautiful heart.

**THE END**

(Hayseed here) This concludes our little peek into the imagined future of our favorite characters, and we thank you for reading! It's been great fun to write with Donna and I hope you enjoyed it as much as we did.


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